


The Eighteen: Darkstalkers Stories

by DoodleFox_McGee



Category: Capcom - Fandom, Darkstalkers (Video Games)
Genre: Aliens, Amazon, Apocalypse, Atlantic Ocean, Australia, Burning, California, Canada, Canon Divergence, Catgirls, Character Death, China, Demons, Dhampir, Egypt, England - Freeform, Europe, Frankenstein - Freeform, Germany, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Japan, Loneliness, Makai - Freeform, Merpeople, Mexico, Monks, New York City, Nightmares, Oregon - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Paris - Freeform, Robots, Samurai, Sasquatch, Succubi & Incubi, Talk Shows, Trauma, Vampires, Werewolves, Woodstock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 22,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21547225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoodleFox_McGee/pseuds/DoodleFox_McGee
Summary: 18 individual stories set across the Darkstalkers universe. Spanning over 100 years, each story is mostly disconnected from one another and features specific bits of canon divergence here and there. With each chapter being named after a song, the themes of the chapter are made evident with the tone or lyrics of each song...that, and I tried to select songs that fit with each character. I hope you enjoy!As of 12/14/2019, this work is completed in it's entirety. Thank you.
Kudos: 27





	1. Killer Queen: Baby Bonnie Hood

**_Timeline: Before Darkstalkers 3_**  
  
She had to practice her routine.  
  
Every night, when the moonlight shot through her window like a searchlight looking for a wanted man, when the ruckus of the tavern she lived above settled down to the snores of the drunken, she would look into the mirror and practice. The glass, to others, reflected their worst qualities back and made them look less human, but considering her job was to hunt the inhuman, she wasn’t so focused on the occasional pimple that came with puberty. She could hide that away for the routine, it wasn’t like it was that hard.  
  
What _did_ matter was her facade.  
  
Her red hood hung from a coat rack like the werewolf hide she carved off two years ago, blowing in the wind provided by the crack in her window. In her handmade wooden basket sat assorted fruits, her Uzi, her Molotov cocktail materials, and assorted flower petals to cover it all up. Her two year old westiepoo, Harry, layed peacefully in his soft-as-silk dog bed, made from the finest fleece Bonnie could find. All of this and more - her red dress and slippers, white apron, pink undershirt - weren’t just for show; they were integral to her job, her lifestyle. Without them, there was no doubt in her mind that she wouldn’t be where she is today.  
  
It was all part of her act. She was a performer in a sense, doing exactly what her clients demanded in order to make a quick buck. She practiced almost every waking moment of the day, whether it be putting on the smile that lured so many beasts towards her, going to the nearby shooting range, negotiating with her contractors, or putting herself through rigorous physical training. For a 14 year old girl, she had quite the muscular physique and could easily bench press beings hundreds of pounds heavier than her.  
  
The mirror, though. B.B. could likely do without most of her kit, she’s crafty enough to know what she’s doing. But the mirror showed her the greatest tool in her arsenal, the one she needed to exercise more and more.  
  
She needed to cry.  
  
No, she didn’t need to cry. She needed to _weep_. If she was to gain the sympathy of every vampire, zombie, ghost, succubus, werewolf, and more, she needed to let the waterworks run wild or risk her disguise falling apart piece by piece. The ultimate way to lure a beast to yourself is to fake innocence, and if you aren’t roleplaying as a cowardly little girl in the middle of Europe, then what’s the point in even faking it? To lure these monsters into a false sense of security, to subvert their expectations and strike the force of a thousand raptures...it gave her _glee_. That, and monetary gain.  
  
But see, there was one problem. On any other night, she would be able to cry rivers...but for some reason, tonight wasn’t her night.  
  
She did everything she could think of: she snuck some of John and Arthur’s whiskey even when they forbid her from having it (even an S-class Darkhunter had to follow the legal drinking age sometimes), she wrote down her deepest darkest secrets and read them out loud, she hit herself in places she still needed to exercise...nothing. If she couldn’t mourn over nothing, then how would her disguise work? Would the Makai monsters believe her facade if she couldn’t act like a “normal” child?-  
  
Wait...why mourn over nothing?  
  
Why not mourn for real?  
  
B.B. stood there in her pink nightgown, closing her eyes and reaching into her deepest darkest memories. What made her tick? What made her crumble like worn-out stairs under the feet of a million, like a forest on fire that couldn’t take much more of the blaze? What made her open the floodgates like nothing else did? What was _authentic_ -  
  
Grandma.  
  
She knew her for two years, but only Harry matched her in the amount of genuine love she had for her. She always tended to her injuries, baked the best cookies that you could catch a whiff of from miles away, genuinely cared for her well-being even if it annoyed Bonnie at times...she loved her. She never told her grandma about her real profession and _never_ showed her the Uzi - that would’ve been awkward. She was a good liar, and like the cookies she baked, her grandma ate it all up and enjoyed it.  
  
It made it all the worse when she came to her house one day to find the door was wide open. There she was-  
  
 _“No. You locked it away for a reason, Hood.”_  
  
It was as if Little Red Riding Hood came true, only the wolf had no interest in staying behind. It had come in and taken its prize, leaving no scraps for the rest of the pack. She would’ve suspected a former hunting rival...only no rival she knew _shed_. Her grandma’s face-  
  
 _“Don’t think it. Shut up. Get some goddamn sleep.”_  
  
She already had the drive to kill before, but now...now the Darkstalkers had no excuse. They took her grandmother and each and every one of them, associated or not, had to pay. Even if her muscles ached, even if she sprained a bone here and there, even if she wasn’t supposed to be this intoxicated at 14, it was worth it to get back what _they_ , the other party, took from her. She deserved it. She deserved everything they took because **_they took from her_** -  
  
It worked.  
  
As each tear hit the wooden floor below her, as the girl slowly fell to her knees away from the mirror and clutched her face with the grip of a mighty Sasquatch, she took pride knowing that she was Baby Bonnie Hood, the best Darkhunter in all of Europe and the bane of Darkstalkers everywhere. She had full control over everything about her, and if that meant she could kill all day long, she’d endure every cut, every punch, every bullet, every demonic entity until they were nothing but products other humans could purchase and display with glee. They were animals, they were born to be harvested and sold like the beasts they are.  
  
After the crying began, the wailing followed shortly after. It’s not as if anyone else would hear her; they were all snoring their drunken sorrows away. Every roar that erupted from her throat only served to make her stronger; if she wasn’t in pain, then she wasn’t doing it right. She’d show them all, show them that no _B-movie prick_ messes with the Hood family.  
  
After awhile, the girl fell silent, slowly getting back up on her feet. Her hands moved away from her face and the mirror was met with Bonnie once more.  
  
The weeping had changed. It was now a low chuckle as she gave off the most sinister grin she could, the energy cracking the mirror right down the middle. She was ecstatic. She's still got it, she could still pull of the disguise and bounce back into the rage she felt on a moment-to-moment basis. It was all coming together again.  
  
That Talbain fellow doesn’t know what’s coming to him...but who would blame him?


	2. Wouldn't It Be Nice: Felicia

**_Timeline: Before Darkstalkers 3_**  
  
“Live from the Big Apple, it’s Direct Discussion with Leroy Leonards!”  
  
The live studio clapped as the cameras cut back on after commercial break, America’s favorite television host coming back onto the stage. With his black suit, bright purple tie, slicked back suave haircut, and both arms out, a single phrase echoed across the room as the audience erupted into cheers.  
  
 ** _“GOOD EVENING, AMERICA!”_**  
  
Leonards was obviously ignoring the elephant in the room...or, to say it correctly, the blue-haired catgirl on the stage. Felicia Rose sat on the chair next to the talk show host’s desk, wearing a pair of blue jeans and an orange sweater with a rosary bead necklace with a cross around her neck as her blue hair drooped behind the purple felt armchair. Clasping her paws together, she eagerly awaited her full introduction as Leonards kept running his mouth; what she could assume were supposed to be funny quips were escaping his lips and causing those watching to launch into bouts of laughter. She was never big on big-time talk shows, but if she had to appear on one for the world to see...it’d probably the one where she wouldn’t get bombarded with questions about her physique.  
  
“...And tonight, we got a special guest! Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce lead singer of Cat’s Cradle, the wonderful Neko Neko Newcomer on the pop scene, the one and only...Felicia Rose!”  
  
The same amount of cheering had erupted from the audience - not Felicia’s expected reaction to her existence, but a welcome one indeed. Leonards sat down behind his desk and almost immediately launched into conversation.  
  
“So, Felicia, what have you and the CC gang been doin’ lately?,” Leonards questioned the catgirl.  
  
“Nothin’ much. Me and the girls just put out our first album about a month ago, Grace is at our hotel brainstormin’ new ideas. We-uh, we actually signed a contract not too long ago...can’t say with who, obviously, but...y’know,” Felicia responded, slowing easing up as the cameras focused in on her.  
  
“Good! Now, from what the general population knows about you and your...sisters, is it?”  
  
“Yep!”  
  
“Alright, from what we know about you and your sisters, you guys are all...uh, you’re all-”  
  
“Darkstalkers.”  
  
“Right, right...please excuse me, I haven’t been feeling the best lately...anyways, can you - can you explain what your new album is all about to those who are unfamiliar with your work? You guys are relatively new, after all,” Leonards inquired.  
  
“Oh, well, like...a lot of themes in the songs are about fair treatment and liberation, a lot of messages about rising up against oppression and equality. ‘God’s Calling’ is my favorite on that one, Lucy did the darker stuff while we got one of our friends to do the main rapping portion. It’s...more or less about standing up for yourself and finding your own freedom,” Felicia answered as if she had practiced parts of the questions for days on end.  
  
“Any reason you chose these themes in particular?”  
  
“Well...as a catgirl, you aren’t as oppressed as the other Darkstalkers are; you - you constantly see stories of werewolves being put down or other Darkstalkers being harmed, but the worst a catgirl usually has to go through is usually being seen as...a dog. That’s still really bad, but...when you have the privilege to speak, I think its fair you should use that gift for good.”  
  
For a split fraction of a second, it felt as if Felicia’s answer fully hushed the crowd; compared to before, there were no stray murmurs or awkward glances like there were before. She was just happy to not have to explain why shoes wouldn’t work on her and what the “other people” were like.  
  
“...You should all go listen to the album, all of you, it’s actually really good! She knows what she's talkin' about!,” Leonards said, causing the silence to ending with a series of clapping and whistles from the audience.  
  
“Now then…”  
  
And so, the show went on.

* * *

It was about two hours after the show had ended; Felicia was in a taxi back to the hotel, staring at the lights of the Big Apple as they zipped past the cab’s windows. The driver seemed to be a rather gruff individual who’s probably done some illegal substances, but overall didn’t seem to mind her grooming her own fur out of instinct. Eventually, they pulled near the stop and Felicia had to go, leaving the driver a sizable tip. As she took the elevator up to her room, she stretched the sweater’s collar (she didn’t remember the elevator being this hot) and tapped her right foot, humming one of her tracks from her family’s next album.  
  
When she walked down the hallway, she didn’t expect to see Leroy Leonards emerge from the opposing elevator.  
  
“...Leroy? What are you-”  
  
Leonards shushed her, looking around to make sure no paparazzi were following either of them; New York was a city of ears, after all.  
  
“Your segment on tonight’s show...really got me thinking. I’m not gonna act like I’m the most knowledgeable on your cause, because I ain’t, but you opened my eyes a bit and if there’s anything you need to me to do, or any cash you need donated, just ring me up, alright?,” Leroy whispered.  
  
Felicia was caught off guard by the host’s proposal - this was the first time she didn’t see him as a figurehead, but rather...a normal guy.  
  
Just like her.  
  
“I always...found it gross how you g- I mean, Darkstalkers were picked off like that, but after tonight, I wanna get involved. Again, if there’s any way I can help-”  
  
“Broadcasting the interview was more than enough, Leroy.”  
  
Both stood in silence for a moment.  
  
“When my mother passed away, she...left me with the idea that you should find your own happiness. I passed that down to my other sisters: that’s why we do what we do. A world where people are crushed under the boot of normalcy is a world I don’t wanna live in, y’know? A-And I said it tonight, but-”   
  
_“When you have the privilege to speak, I think its fair you should use that gift for good.”_  
  
Both individuals stopped to stare at each other. Did they...really just think the same sentence? It seems they really did care, whether it be the organizer of the movement or the brand new ally she had made.  
  
“...I-If there’s anything you need...just dial me up, alright-”  
  
“Thank you, Leroy.”  
  
With that, Felicia winked and began to walk off towards her room. Leonards stood around in the hallway, still taking in everything that had just happened to him.  
  
Perhaps he should get back to his office, but for now...he’s content with reflecting. A big star like him needs time to relax.  
  
“You don’t meet a lot of people like her nowadays, huh?”


	3. On Melancholy Hill: Rikuo

**_Timeline: After Darkstalkers 3_ **

Thank Poseidon it was just a dream.

Rikuo Aulbath stood on the balcony of Castle Sargasso, staring at the multicolored coral below him. The miles of water above the ocean was set underneath the light of a full moon, the light breaking through the waves and illuminating the castle slightly. The kingdom was fast asleep after a hard day’s work of construction and greeting all the new merpeople who had heard of the new civilization’s existence, now with two more buildings completed with not too many more to finish. It had been two months since the death of Jedah and the discovery of the hidden Sargasso region merpeople; being from the Amazon, Rikuo, his wife Aqueria, and their kids formed an alliance with the other merpeople in order to keep both breeds alive rather than only being alive in fairy tales.

So why couldn’t he get over what happened all that time ago?

It was sudden: him and his family were enjoying their time in the Amazon when, for a split second, he looked away, only for him to look back once more and see only bubbles where his son once swam.

_“No. No, no, no, not again. I can’t do this.”_

His sons and Aqueria were his rock, his...anchor, dare he compare himself to human engineering. It had been so long since he had other merpeople in his life that when he met Aqueria, he couldn’t see a future without her in it. He was always hopeful that he wasn’t the last merman on Earth, but…

He was lonely for so long, he had forgotten what it was like to live with others.

The mere thought of his kids disappearing again, even if it wasn’t due to Jedah’s magic dimension baby... _thing_ shook Rikuo to his core. His family was his pride and joy, and just like his kingdom fell once before, he would die - no, suffer the most painful death imaginable if it meant they got to live peacefully. And for a week...they couldn’t. They were lost, separated from one another, confused...or their souls had been ripped from their mortal forms and been put inside that...beast that Jedah had created.

He had let his whole family down.

He wasn’t going to let this fear stop him from doing his royal duties, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to eat away at him. How he could protect his kingdom if he let his family get separated in multiple directions? He didn’t want to be overbearing and dictate how his kids should go about their day, but…

...Oh, great, more trash in the sea.   
Rikuo immediately leapt from the balcony and swam up to the surface, grabbing the plastic set of rings and bringing it back down to dispose of it personally. He didn’t understand why humanity could be so kind to one another but couldn’t bother taking care of the creatures below them-

“You’re worrying about the kids, aren’t you?”

Rikuo jumped slightly, taken by surprise by the sound of his wife’s elegant voice. If there was an eighth wonder of the world, she’d be it; a beautiful voice, a determined attitude, the ability to kick plenty of...for lack of a better term, ass...she was the yin to Rikuo’s yang, the person that made him feel whole and vice versa.

“...In fairness, when am I not?,” the merman responded, floating inches above the balcony as Aqueria crossed her arms, staring up at her husband. She sighed, shaking her head and giving out a small chuckle.

“Rikuo, you can’t keep letting someone else’s actions eat away at you,” she said, pointing at the balcony floor as Rikuo descended further onto the marble.

“That’s the problem: I could’ve done something both times-”

“Tell me what you could’ve done when Pyron returned.”

Rikuo stopped, an expression of surprise appearing on his otherwise calm face. The initial attack on his people left only him and Aqueria alive, the latter of which was stuck waiting and wondering if anyone else had made it. The two had found each other because of one superpowered deity’s goals of destruction, and even if they spawned from it, over 29,000 Amazonian merpeople didn’t.

“I...I don’t know.”

“And when Jedah opened the Majigen?”

“...It...It was random-”

“Exactly. You couldn’t do anything because it was sudden - both times were out of your control. You are not at fault for the destruction they caused.”

“But it’s always in the back of my mind. When Pyron struck, I could’ve guided them to safety-”

“You did. I heard your voice.”

Both parties fell silent, Rikuo gripping the banister surrounding the balcony as the moonlight seemed to beam down upon both of them like a searchlight looking for a Hollywood star.

“...I don’t want to lose the boys, Aqua.”

“I don’t either, Ricky. But you need to know that even if bad things happen to them, you’ll still be there...besides, we’re two kickass parents. I think we’d fight through _tsunamis_ if it means getting our boys back.”

The merman chuckled, turning to hold his wife, both staring into each other’s eyes.

“You know I don’t usually allow swearing in here, Aqua.”

“We’re outside.”

“...I suppose.”

Rikuo hugged his wife, lifting her up as she let out small childish giggles fit for a queen such as herself. He then began to affectionately kiss her cheeks, knowing she was easily embarrassed yet enjoyed them all the same.

“You can’t worry about them forever, Ricky. I think of them the same way you do, but they’re gonna be okay...we all are.”

“I know, dear, I know.”

The two began to lift themselves off of the balcony and closer to the surface, their heads and upper torsos peeking out to greet the stars looking down upon them. To Rikuo, those were the eyes of the people he had lost all those years ago, looking down upon him in approval. Aqueria loved the moon; she could’ve easily swam to the surface herself, but going with Rikuo was always the preferable way to go. She loved the stars especially - they reminded her of dancing, two individuals moving in sync with one another and putting on a jolly good show.

“I adore you, Aqueria,” Rikuo uttered as he started into the night sky.

“I adore you too, Rikuo,” the queen replied, embracing her husband as all felt right in their world.

And just as quickly as they had come up, back into the Sargasso they went.

Thank Poseidon this wasn't just a dream.


	4. Ruler of Everything: Anakaris

**_Timeline: Before Darkstalkers 3_ **

Even if he foresaw his revival 5,000 years ago, Anakaris couldn’t have predicted how lonely he would end up feeling.

At age 12, he commanded armies, ruled over an incredible empire, and built some of the finest monuments in all of Egypts. He knew of his fate and worked to do whatever he could do in that time...only to be forcefully woken up in a world that didn’t recognize him. A world that had forgotten his existence in favor of those before and after his rule - did they not know of the astonishing feats his people had accomplished? Did they only know of their eventual demise, if even that? Was time like the sands of Egypt, an ever changing inevitability that had little to no traces of the past within it?

Whatever the case was, he and many others had helped to take Pyron not too long ago; he had to admit that he had grown fond of the company the Anubis-like creature provided during their journey - a lonely soul like him was someone he could relate to. Yet when the time came, the wolf had to move one and head back home less his life were to be stripped away from him. Anakaris knew this himself, heading back to sit in his tomb, hoping for a purpose to arise...but none came.

Despite what that succubus described as “a freakin’ God complex”, Anakaris only saw himself as a good king...yet, what was a king without anything to rule over?

In a world that wouldn’t accept a “creature” like him, what was he to rule over? The corpse of fellow pharaohs that couldn’t speak back to him? The rodents that lurked into the dark rooms of the pyramids? Khaibit, the animalistic being that lived in his stomach and controlled his lower half when the upper half was disconnected? No, for Anakaris was the king of nothing and everything at the same time.

In his mind, Anakaris ran through what he could do, when...the voice came.

**_“Salutations, o great pharaoh.”_ **

Anakaris immediately rose from his seat as if the energy he felt as a young boy had returned to his towering corpse once more.

“Who dare speaks to Anakaris, vessel of God?,” the ancient pharaoh spoke, his words echoing and causing the room to shake as dust flew off of artifacts.

**“** **_No one important...at least, to a pharaoh. Since you’re the ‘vessel of God’, I assume no one was as important as you were. Now? Your role doesn’t exist anymore._ ** **”**

“Cease your arrogance at once. What is your purpose?”

The voice in his head continued to go on, ignoring the forgotten king’s demands.

**_“Did you know that Egypt is no longer ruled by pharaohs? You have a president now; you answer to him. How does it feel to not be at the top of the food chain anymore, o great pharaoh?”_ **

The voice was doing a damn good job of getting into his head...not literally, it had already done that. It spoke with a confidence not felt but anyone Anakaris had ever known, as if it knew more than even  _ he  _ did. He had met no one like this on his journey with the Darkstalkers; not even that Maximoff fellow was this confident.

“I demand an answer.  _ What is your purpose?, _ ” Anakaris spoke with anger.

_ “ _ **_My purpose? Why, nothing much. I’m a messenger from the future. You may remember me from 5,000 years ago, but it’s been so long that I doubt you do._ ** _ ” _

...Anakaris swore on his life that he was the one who foresaw his return-

_ “ _ **_No, you didn’t. Every vision you saw, everything ‘you’ predicted? All me. I may not be the God you believe in, but I know more about you than you yourself.”_ **

Whoever this voice was, it was really getting to Anakaris. Whoever this being was, he knew plenty about him and essentially planned out his path in life for him...was he going insane? No. No embodiment of God has ever lost their mind before...besides, he had just gotten done fighting an alien space deity alongside a woman with the features of a cat, the Anubis-like being from earlier, and a curiously attractive fishman. A disembodied voice telling him that his future was never in his hands wasn’t that much different.

**_“Listen, pharaoh. You rule nothing. You have no respect anywhere...that is, except for your own time. You’ve been displaced from your home, your people, and there’s always a way of going home, is there not?”_ **

“My home is deep in the past. There are no traces of it in the modern world, intruder.”

**_“Ah, there you go again, always so limited in your ways of thinking. Who said I was talking about the modern world?”_ **

Anakaris stopped, letting the presence talk his way into what he came here for.

**_“See...I have a way to get back home. Despite your immense power, you lack imagination. I, on the other hand, have the imagination you’re so desperately missing. I can do so many things if you just...invite me into your life!”_ **

“...Elaborate.”

**_“We can time travel, Anakaris. You and me. You can save your people from extinction; none of this has to occur. You can see your kingdom again, your wife, your pyramids.”_ **

**_“You can save them, Anakaris._ **

The idea was...tempting. Anakaris knew that his immense power was enough to create rifts in time and the idea was promising. A day, even an hour, to see his former glory once more...what an image.

Yet he knew better. He knew not to trust this...deity. It had a way of talking, a way with words, that gave off vibes of sin and general untrustworthiness. It had cards up it sleeves that would lead the otherwise god-like pharaoh down the path of becoming a vessel for all that God stood against. Even if it meant further loneliness and isolation...he couldn’t do it.

“I refuse your trick, sinful being.”

Anakaris’ mind fell silent as if the atmosphere of the tomb had merged with his brain to become an entity of pure deafening emptiness. Then…

**_“...Very well. If you ever need me, House Dohma is only a dimension away.”_ **

**** **_“Just remember, Anakaris: You rule nothing.”_ **

With that, the presence of “Dohma” had disappeared, leaving Anakaris fully alone once more. Once again taking his seat among past kings and queens of Egypt, the pharaoh’s permanent grimace stared ahead at the stairs that lead up to the surface world. The surface world that would never accept him for what he had become. The surface world that wiped out him and his people from the history books.

Yet it was also the surface world where the Darkstalkers roamed, beings who understood his plight. These creatures of the night were just as abstract and odd as he was, working together to try and make a better future for themselves. Perhaps he could do the same?

Lonely as he was, perhaps Anakaris could wait and meet his peers once more some other day… but for now, he remained the ruler of nothing and everything all at once: a figurehead forgotten, a deity unearthed. 

May God have mercy on their darkened souls.


	5. Garage Palace: Demitri

**_Timeline: 100 Years Before Darkstalkers 2_ **

Today was not Demitri Maximoff’s day.

Not only were his entire clan risking their lives, not only was his beloved living quarters ablaze, but he now faced exile at the hands of his most despised enemy. Standing atop of his burning castle, the skies of Makai that usually provided solace were now a fiery orange. Vampires fought the armies of the opposing monsters in Makai, their numbers slowly depleting as they either ran or fell to their demise. The lord of the vampires looked around frantically, setting his sights on Castle Aensland: transforming into his beastly winged form, Maximoff darted off towards the home of his adversaries.

Immediately upon entering, Maximoff took down common mooks in single strikes and bites, gaining power from the blood he drank. The pain of the vampires, the loss of his castle, the exile he could face...none of it would matter if he killed Belial. It would be easy; Aensland was older than him, so tearing him apart would be only a matter of seconds. As the lord of the vampires barreled through waves of weak Makai soldiers, his strength grew alongside his hunger for more. The unconscious bodies of the soldiers acted as projectiles that broke down the doors to the royal hall, allowing Demitri access to his enemy’s most likely location-

“ **_I see you’ve been busy, Maximoff._ ** ”

Jedah Dohma. The  _ bastard _ .

“Speak in sin for as long as you can, Dohma. You and your friend’s reign ends now,” Demitri growled as the blue skinned demon began to circle the vampire.

“ **_What have we done to anger you so much, Demitri? We barely interact with you, so what could’ve dear Belial have done to launch you into a temper tantrum?_ ** ,” Jedah replied, crossing his shoulders and leaning into a pose that displayed full confidence in his abilities.

“Your reign is going to plunge Makai into ruins. Belial’s successor is a foolish girl who does not know of the power she possesses; you and Galnon hold no power in this situation. Under Belial’s rule, our world will end in eternal damnation.”

“ **_You think I’m not aware of that? Do you know what I would do to see Aensland ousted from his position that he doesn’t deserve? What makes you more worthy than me, Maximoff?_ ** ”

“Nothing that makes you any less. We share the same amount of power deep down, Dohma, only I have the  _ spine  _ to use it for the greater good.”

“ **_Mmm...wouldn’t talk about spines like that._ ** ”

“Why is that?”

“ **_Because you’re about to lose yours._ ** ”

As soon as Jedah finished his speech, the doors on the opposite end of the room burst wide open as Galnon, one of the three Makai nobles, rammed straight into Demitri with his bull-like horns. The vampire crashed into the walls of the room, immediately rebounding and heading straight for Galnon. Galnon himself was the second largest of the nobles was easily the heaviest due to his weight, so he wouldn’t be a complete pushover.

“ **_Galnon! You’re just in time; Maximoff was about to end my life and was planning to head for you next!,_ ** ” Jedah proclaimed, the twisting of past events so potent to Demitri that he could almost taste the venom in the youngest noble’s words. Galnon was none the wiser to Jedah’s hidden plans, engaging in combat with the sinister vampiric threat.

“This kingdom will  _ burn _ if Belial continues to lead! Do you not see what he has done to it already?,” Demitri bellowed, dodging a swing of the arm by Galnon as he gestured towards the destruction outside.

“You cause this  _ yourself _ , fiend!,” Galnon roared as he prepared to crush the vampire under his massive fists. With the strength of a thousand mortal men, Demitri held Galnon’s fist above his head before shoving it away, leaving the giant immobilized as he went into attack.

Being that Galnon was large and slow when stunned, Demitri attempted to make quick work of the giant; still, even after multiple fireballs, slashes, and punches, the noble fought back with the force of a speeding train, causing unintentional damage to the royal hall when Demitri was thrashed against the room. It was as both were ready to take one another out that Demitri remembered something.

Or rather, someone.

“ **_Let’s get a little spotlight on you two, shall we?!_ ** ”

Before Demitri could react, Jedah snapped his fingers and, almost immediately, the halls ceiling shattered into pieces and floated upwards. Above them all was a portal to the human realm, a portal that was made to banish the lord of the vampires to a world where he couldn’t touch Makai ever again. However, what made the portal so dangerous was what it was showing off.

The sun.

Almost immediately, Demitri screamed in agony as his sinister spirit began to burn under the sunlight. Any semblance of strength faded away as smoke began to erupt from his body, soon resulting in cracks that spewed sparks and flames. His mouth was now a glowing orange cave of fire, Galnon moving away from the weakened vampire. Those who were fighting had ceased as the other vampires began to burn too, slowly collapsing into ashes. 

As Jedah picked up the burning Demitri, the footsteps of an even bigger being came his way. From what his eyes could spot, Galnon stepped aside as... _ he  _ arrived.

“ **_Oh, great Belial Aensland! We barely took care of this traitor on our own! What are we to do with this...creature?_ ** ,” Jedah asked Belial as he held the screaming vampire in his hands.

Demitri’s head turned, the sound of rocks cracking and falling apart as he stared directly into Belial’s blank white eyes.

“ _ The youngest noble plans on your destruction, Aensland. Your fate is...inevitable _ ,” the lord of the vampires croaked out as he erupted into flames.

Deafening silence from all parties.

Then, he spoke.

“You are to be banished to Romania for all eternity. Should you die there, no one will mourn.”

With that, Jedah flung the burning vampire into the sky portal as fast and hard as he could, Maximoff almost on the verge of death as he might as well have been a ball of fire at this point. As his screams faded into nothingness, the portal closed, returning the demon realm back to a somewhat normal state. Belial, Galnon, and Jedah stood in the ruins of Castle Aensland as the last of the vampires fell to their knees, Demitri’s home fully collapsing into the endless sea that surrounded Makai.

“ **_I’m sure he’ll live, my lord. Perhaps it is best he left like this - he was always a coward,_ ** ” Jedah uttered, a grin returning to his face as if his home wasn’t destroyed...not beyond repair, but damaged to where it counts.

The silence was interrupted once more by Belial’s booming voice...only instead of booming confidence, it had a tinge of worry to it.

“What have we wrought upon the human world?”


	6. Scared of the Dark: Jon Talbain

**_Timeline: Before Darkstalkers 3_ **

“The beast went that way! Get him, go, go, go!”

Jon Talbain ran through the forests of England as the footsteps of what felt like millions trailed behind him - in reality, it was only a little more than a dozen. Wielding their pitchforks and guns, they aimed to take down the “beast” after he had been discovered peacefully resting in their village behind their tavern. The moon that provided him with a cover of darkness was now exposing him for all of his adversaries to see. It’s not that the werewolf who dealt in martial arts couldn’t take simple humans - rather, he was just sick and tired of them accusing him of crimes he didn’t commit.

If he was human, no one would bat an eye, but because he didn’t have a recognizable human face half the time, everyone saw him as a beast to be hunted and destroyed. The minute you lose recognizable features, no one can project humanity onto you and, as such, see you as a lower lifeform. This was the case for Jon, as he couldn’t easily transform back into his human form and was usually trapped in his more...monstrous build. 

He grew a hatred towards humans over the course of his 70 years of living; the second the light of a full moon struck him at 18, everyone saw him not for his inner beauty, but for his outer beast. The difference between fictional werewolves and the kinds that roamed the human realm were that the fictional ones had to wait to transform back into their original flesh and bone - real werewolves had to train for years to get their “humanity” back-

BANG!

Talbain cringed in pain, letting out a yelp as what felt like a bullet entered his right shoulder. He quickly glanced behind him, his heartbeat growing louder in his ears as the mob slowly gained on him. In a panic, Jon made a sharp turn into the forest followed by more and more twists and branching paths to give his accusers the slip, running over twigs and discarded trash those before him had left behind. The bullet shouldn’t be affecting him as much it was, but if he was to remove it soon, he needed a place that no human could know about.

“ _ The concrete cave. Perfect. _ ”

The werewolf kept running, making his way out of the forest as the cries of the mob got quieter and quieter. The English countryside provided him more safety than the maze of trees he had escaped from; he always liked going here in times of stress. The hill that lead to the forest made Jon’s running even more erratic than it already was as he essentially slid down hill. Heading near a cliffside, Jon ducked into a gap that stayed relatively hidden to the uncaring eye, sliding between rocks as a trail of blood was left behind against each of the walls his shoulder touched. Eventually, Jon came to a stop as he stared at the “Concrete Cave”; with rock that mirrored human-made concrete in texture, this place got cold often and acted as a place for Jon to hide and wait until the coast was clear.

The werewolf was so busy with his injury that he didn’t notice the small bonfire that was lit up where he usually sat...that, and the human male behind it.

The human was male and in his early twenties, a large hiking backpack beside him as he stared at the werewolf. In hindsight, he should’ve guessed someone - or something - already lived here; there were scratches all along the walls and even a pair of makeshift nunchucks hanging on one of the walls. After a few seconds, the werewolf finally paid attention to the fire, slowly looking up to see the stunned face of the man. The two, now face to face, exchanged no words as the crackling of the firewood echoed throughout the cave walls.

“...What are you gonna do, kill me?,” Talbain sarcastically remarked as his legs gave out, forcing him to slump against the wall. He began to try and work the bullet out of his shoulder, blood scraping down the wall.

The man immediately saw this and leapt up from his seat, forcing Jon onto his stomach.

“ _ Never _ try and remove a bullet on your own-,” he tried to say before being interrupted.

“Yeah, yeah, removing the bullet makes the blood worse - look, kid, I-I’ve been shot plenty of times, removed plenty of these buggers on my own...doubt one more will make me any worse,” Jon replied.

“...How fast do you heal?”

“Faster than your kind, kid...why do you even wanna help, anyways? You don’t know me-”

“Mr. Talbain, you helped kill Pyron a month ago.”

That little factoid made Jon stop talking almost immediately; how long has the spotlight been on him? How long have people put him in the public eye, how well-known was he? He always tried to stay as hidden as possible for the sake of him and others, so to have a target that big on his back…he hated it.

“So I...remove the bullet?,” the man asked, a pair of tweezers entering the wound, making Jon wince slightly.

“Y-Yeah...just toss it aside,” the slightly surly lycanthrope answered.

Pretty soon, the bullet was removed from Jon’s shoulder and tossed to the other side of the cave. The man then pulled out supplies from his backpack and began to patch up the hole as he wrapped up the area in plenty of gauze. Reassured that Talbain’s wound will heal overtime, the man sat down against the wall, prompting the werewolf to sit up as well. The two sat in awkward silence once more, the fire still going and illuminating the cave.

“...What’s your name, kid?,” Talbain asked, not turning to look at the man. The man jerked his head towards the werewolf in response before answering.

“...Harry. Harry Grimoire.”

“Well, Harry...thanks for the help.”

“No problem, sir.”

The fire crackled once more with no noises to interrupt it.

“Why are you even here?,” Talbain inquired, turning to face the young human.

“...My family found out I was gay a few days ago...they ousted me and sent me on my way...just kinda found this cave and was gonna wait out the night.”

Again, the fire was the only sound either could hear as the awkward silence returned once more, providing warmth in a cold situation.

“...Heh, guess we’re both outcasts then,” Talbain remarked as his frozen exterior began to melt further.

“I’ve never fully trusted humans, Harry, but...if you need someone to talk to, I think I’ll be here for the foreseeable future. Losers need losers to make them something more than the sum of their parts,” he continued, leaning against the wall as if this was a normal interaction for him to have. 

“But, sir...you aren’t a loser at all! You-you saved the planet, all of you guys did!,” Harry spoke up, causing Jon to lightly tap the bandages he applied to him minutes before.

“Would a loser have a giant furry target on his back?”

Harry thought about that sentence for a bit, fully understanding Jon’s plight as the silence returned for the final time that night. As the fire slowly went out, Harry’s eyes began to try and close themselves shut, eventually causing the man to drift to sleep. Jon, looking over, chuckled to himself before fully committing to a good night’s sleep as well.

Maybe not every human was as bad as one another...just maybe.

“G’night, Harry.”


	7. Livin' Thing: Huitzil

**_Timeline: Before Darkstalkers 3_ **

Huitzil didn’t mean to do what he had done - it was his programming.

If Cecil came to him with a broken arm, it was in Huitzil’s programming to stop everything and help the boy in whatever way he can. Cecil would often remark that it was funny that Huitzil went from being the reason the dinosaurs went extinct to being his parental figure; being a robot, he couldn’t figure out why that was so “funny.” The boy was his first and only priority, for if Cecil was harmed by anyone or anything, Huitzil wouldn’t stop his assault on the problem until he or Cecil deemed it fit.

One day, Cecil came running home after a day of doing what Cecil does best: living an adventurous life in Teotihuacan, finding little trinkets and treasures in garbage cans, alleyways, and other places where, in his words, “livin’ was good.” To make a long story short, Cecil had made enemies with two stronger boys who, unlike other enemies he had made, wouldn’t leave him alone and followed him back to where he lived: Teotihuacan’s ancient and abandoned ruins. The young boy could feel each stick and stone the boys were throwing as he frantically tried to hide from them, the two gaining on him with impressive speeds for 10 year olds.

As soon as he heard Cecil scream for help, Huitzil activated his attack mode.

He already didn’t have the best image to the public eye; being controlled by the sinister Pyron upon being reactivated after millions of years in hibernation meant that he was the “bad guy” to them for obvious reasons. But even if Cecil could feel full guilt or shame, it wouldn’t stop him from opening fire on those two boys.

The good news is that neither of them were killed or sustained an injury. The bad news is that a giant 7’3ft robot tried to kill two boys with the use of machine guns, buzzsaws, cannons, claws, and other weapons that could easily kill...anyone, really. The area surrounding the ruins was now a mess of craters, bullet holes, scorched landmarks, and fallen trees, letting the Mexican public know that something was up. Huitzil only stopped his attack after Cecil screamed at him to stop, causing him to immediately change protocols and head towards the obviously distressed boy. The two could hear that people were on their way to investigate, prompting the robot to sweep the boy off of his feet and lift him into the sky, flying off towards somewhere that they could hide in for the next few hours.

The two were sitting in an abandoned canyon, traces of the sea life it once held being evident throughout the canyon walls. It was a little dry, but for now, it was a good place to stay until they figured the coast was clear.

“What were you thinking, man?!,” Cecil frantically blurted out, panicking as Huitzil stood there motionless.

“I merely followed my system protocol. You were in danger. I was made to eliminate danger,” the robot answered, bending down slightly to stare at his best friend.

“But you don’t try and  _ kill _ two kids! They’re my age! What if their parents found out?!”

“It is their loss, then.”

Cecil stopped and pinched the area between his eyes out of frustration. Huitzil didn’t quite understand the issue still.

“Okay...if it was, say, Pyron trying to hurt me, go ahead! Do what you did! But if its just some stupid kids, intimidation is enough to get them off my back!,” the young boy exclaimed, using his hands to showcase his point.

“But they are scared of me now, not intimidated. Does that mean I did even better?,” the ancient robot questioned, sitting on the ground to try and get to Cecil’s level.

“No- well, yes, but- just don’t attack smaller people!”

“The vampire lord was smaller than me, but I attacked him-”

“No! I mean...pick on someone your own size!”

“My brothers are asleep.”

Cecil immediately stopped whatever he was doing and turned to face his friend, an expression of utter confusion on his freckled face.

“...What do you mean by brothers?,” the boy inquired.

“There are many more of ‘Huitzil’ underground. We were brought here by Pyron to kill the dinosaurs-,” Huitzil began before being interrupted.

“No, no, I know that, but...the way you said it before made it sound like you were the only one...how many more are there?,” Cecil asked.

“There are easily millions of us. However, they do not possess the malfunction I do; if they were to be awoken, they would easily exterminate humanity in but a few hours.”

“You don’t have a malfunction, bud-”

“Cecil, if I were to be fixed, my programming would immediately target you as the closest threat.”

The two fell silent as Huitzil’s mechanical insides whirred and buzzed in their regular fashion.

“...So you have compassion?,” Cecil asked once more.

“Incorrect. I am not able to feel real human emotions. It is simply a glitch in my system,” the Aztec automaton added, still sitting in the position he locked himself into not too long ago.

“It doesn’t matter if its a glitch, buddy! You’re the only one of the robots to not wanna kill people by default, right?”

“Correct.”

“You care about things; the second you could rebel against Pyron, you-”

“Struck him down with the force of the million meteors.”

“Yeah! You can tell the difference between right and wrong...usually! Even if you go too far, you  _ care _ about people, Huitzil! You  _ can  _ feel emotions, even if they’re super limited!”, Cecil yelled, going in to hug his best friend even if his arms couldn’t wrap around his wide torso.

Huitzil didn’t initially respond, not twisting or looking down at the boy. His golden exterior seemed cold, but hugging him provided a sense of warmth due to the complex and evermoving machinery inside of him.

“Is feeling emotions a positive outcome?,” the robot asked.

“Of course it is, man!”

“...Then perhaps I like these ‘emotions.’”

Huitzil scooped up his friend and began to fly off once more, the sun beginning to go down as the moon began to rise like the natural order intended. Even if Huitzil didn’t fully know it, perhaps he could be…“human” just like the other people that roamed the earth he was now a part of. And if his brothers were to ever rise from their tombs once more, he would do anything, even be torn apart piece by piece, if it meant that their reign of terror wouldn’t continue any further. Still, until that time came...he had a best friend to protect, and right now, that’s his number one priority.

And if Pyron ever came back…“his ass is grass,” as Cecil would usually put it.


	8. One Percent: Lilith

**_Timeline: During Darkstalkers 3_ **

She had to run.

She had to fly away, get as far away from her old life as possible. She couldn’t keep running forever, but she couldn’t stay where she was before for fear of...confrontation, really. Her sister - no, was she even her sister?...Okay, her  _ father  _ \- no, he wasn’t her real dad, either. She didn’t know; her whole worldview was just shattered out of the blue, so how could she?

For 4 days, Lilith Aensland had believed that she was an 18 year old girl living with her normal human father in Oregon; she remembered the birthdays, the day her mom left, the friends she had made in school, the smells of the movie theater they always went to, the taste of the turkey her dad always made...everything was so vivid. She had an entire life, dammit, and in an instant...all gone.

She always knew was a succubus; she always figured that came from her mother, as she always had a secret to hide before she left them for someone better...at least, that’s what she thought. Her father, to her knowledge, was an ordinary human by the name of Jeffrey Aensland, a hardworking CEO of a clothing store who always made an attempt to connect to his daughter when he could and always felt a little lonely after his wife left. Still, he never treated her like an outcast or anything and made sure that if someone was getting on her for her two sets of wings, he’d take care of it with the force only a single parent could provide. She was lucky to have the friends she did, as even after what that “Morrigan” succubus did against Pyron, humans still viewed people like her as “monsters” and always tried to stay away from her.

She thought she knew that.

When she gained her memories back, she realized that she was never 18 at all. Her consciousness was  _ 341  _ years old while her body was only there for...4 days. Everything she so vividly remembered, her origins, her mom, her dad...all fake memories given to her by a higher power. There was no clothing store, she never had any friends, she never had a mom...and her dad wasn’t who he said he was at all.

There was never a Jeffrey Aensland...but there was a Jedah Dohma.

And there she was now, sitting in a forest against a tree as her mind raced faster than any car could possibly go. She was supposed to be part of someone else; her base form was a piece of someone bigger, someone greater than her. If none of her memories were real, was she real herself or was she just someone masquerading as someone else? Did she even  _ exist _ ? What if Morrigan found her? How would she react to her-

...4 days in and she’s already having her first panic attack.

It began with an increased heart rate - she could feel herself getting more frantic and tense as she sat there. Then came the groaning, panicked groans escaping her throat as she looked to her left and right. She felt as if someone was coming for her at any second.

_ “Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Someone else is here, you’re dying.” _

Lilith’s chest began to ache as she tried to calm herself down, frantically clutching where it hurt most in a vain attempt to get it to stop. When that wasn’t working, she put her hands on the side of her head and pressed her legs closer to her chest.

_ “GO GO GO GO GO GO SOMEONE IS HUNTING YOU DOWN” _

As tears began to escape her closed eyes, Lilith’s breathing only became more and more panicked. The young girl had trouble catching her breath as her tears, chest aches, thoughts, and worries all culminated in an intense sense of fear, causing her to shut down and lock herself in that position. Shaking and sobbing, all Lilith could hear was her own thoughts...thoughts about she was gonna die, how she shouldn’t even exist, how everyone was gonna hate her…

_ “STOP PANICKING AND GET UP LEAVE NOW SOMEONE IS COMING SOMEONE IS GONNA HURT YOU LEAVE LEAVE LEAVE-” _

It was over.

As soon as it came, as soon as the feeling washed over her...it left. The attack was over and now she was alone once more.

Lilith, who a few seconds ago was a wailing mess, now had a few small tremors but was otherwise fine. It was as if all of the fear and emotion she felt had been sucked out of her; able to regain her breath and normal heart rate, she now sat there with a deadpan expression on her face as she wiped away the stray tears left behind. She felt...weirdly hollow, as if she was an empty vessel meant to harbor something-

Oh, wait. She  _ was _ .

She wasn’t going to have another panic attack, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like utter shit still. Where would she go after this? It’s not as if the two people she knew were real would accept her back: she didn’t even know Morrigan and Jedah would likely manipulate her once again.

“Always wanted a sister.”

Lilith looked up to where the sun would be breaking through the trees only to see someone blocking it with their presence. She was tall, her green hair shining brightly against her black boots and leotard. Her purple tights also stood out, highlighting her elegant frame and posture. The two sets of wings on her back and head helped her fly-

“...Morrigan?”

The older-looking succubus landed on the ground, crouching down to get on her new sister’s level. Lilith, still worn out and upset, barely cast a glance at her sister as she tilted her head, getting a look at the lavender haired youth.

“I’m sorry about...all of that,” Morrigan said as she put her hand on her sister’s right cheek, almost giving her a motherly feel.

“You didn’t do anything...it was just me being a baby-,” Lilith said before having her sentence interrupted.

“Being manipulated like that isn’t being a baby. Don’t let  _ anyone _ tell you otherwise, Lily,” the older-looking succubus added. Lilith didn’t bother to go against her words, shyly looking away as her sister put her hand on her shoulder.

“I know you’re pretty shaken, so lunch is on me. Anywhere you wanna go in particular?,” the green-haired succubus inquired, pulling a wallet out of seemingly nowhere. Lilith hesitated, her gaze shifting back to her sister once more with a tired look in her eyes.

“...Fast food is a thing that exists, right?”

“...Yes?”

“I  _ think  _ there’s a place called El Fuerte’s...dunno if its real or not, heh...,” Lilith continued, standing up on shaky legs before Morrigan grabbed her by the hand, pulling her up and helping her gain balance after the attack.

“It does exist, darling, and I’m not big into fast food...but I’ll do it just this once, alright?,” Aensland said, lightly chuckling to herself as she began to walk with her sister. Lilith let out a small chuckle, trying to fully compose herself when standing next to someone she only knew through the television. The two set off in the direction Morrigan came from, beginning to get to know each other more with every step.

If there was one thing Lilith knew, it was that she didn’t have to keep running anymore.


	9. When I Was A Boy: Victor

**_Timeline: After Darkstalkers 3_ **

Home is where the heart is, but it wasn’t where his friends were.

Victor had just come back from defeating “that mean blue man” along with his new friends: in particular, “the green-haired lady” and “Fishy” were people he considered to be his best friends, treating him with respect and letting him smash the “blue man’s” face in when the time came. The “Majigen,” or whatever they called it, was kinda scary, but if taking it down meant getting his sister back, then he would destroy thousands of “Majigens” to do so. Yet...when the place was destroyed, all of the lost souls had gone back home to their owners…

But where was Emily’s?

For awhile, his younger sister had lived by him; whereas Victor had big strong arms and “super duper strength,” Emily was much smaller and much smarter, making sure that his big hands didn’t actually crush anything smaller than him and making him feel welcome in the otherwise lonely castle. So when she ceased functioning one day, Victor knew to tuck her into bed and try to electrify her back to life, just like he usually did...only this time, she wasn’t coming back alive. It took a full day for the Frankenstein’s monster to realize that something was wrong. Next thing he knew, “the fluffy wolf guy” came knocking at his door at informed him that something happened and that they needed to go...then a bunch of other things Victor forgot about...then the Majigen blew up...and now he’s back home once more.

He was certain that her soul was taken by it, so for him to come home and see that she was still sleeping, it made someone who was constantly scratching his head do it even more. The warm castle walls are cold when Emily isn’t awake; everything in the castle is worse without her, in fact. She always makes sure her and Victor water the plants, dust the furniture, make sure the professor’s room was well kept (even if he wasn’t coming home)...without her by his side, the castle was a joyless prison that Victor longed to escape from.

...That “skeleton music man” gave him a very good idea earlier.

If Victor could recall, he and the skeleton got in a fight on their way to the Majigen before he told the Frankenstein’s monster to “use his brain for something better, eh?” At the time, Victor didn’t think much of it - or think much at all for that matter - but now...yeah, he  _ could  _ use his brain to get Emily back! If none of the other electric methods work, surely his body could provide enough to keep her running...forever! They could share it and she’d never have to shut off again! Victor made a mental note to thank that guy when he saw him again...before essentially crumpling it up on accident.

As he thrust the castle doors open, the cold air hit him like a punch to the gut. Each step inside made him feel even more like a hero; he was gonna save his sister and make her proud! When she woke up, she’d give him a big hug and it’ll just be like old times! He knew he couldn’t run for fear of shaking the entire building, but Victor began to walk slightly faster than he was as he took the stairs up to the second level. When he reached the fourth, he made a stark detour to see if his dad was home, pulling open his bedroom door.

Nope. Not home.

The monster shrugged, still not grasping the idea that Professor Von Gerdenheim...wasn’t coming back. His main quest continued as he ascended each level of the castle; he wasn’t the best at counting, but he knew which floors were in the double-digits and which weren’t. The top floor was the little pointy bit at the top where their dad used to work (Emily told him that when they hung out once), so Victor always put her on the big steel rectangle when she stopped moving. Each floor was colder than the last, bits of snow appearing the higher the floors got.

He made it...floor 20.

Swinging open the door to the room, Victor was greeted to what he saw before he left: his sister lying on the table covered by blankets and laying atop of a single pillow. The lamp above her body was the only source of light in the entire castle, helping Victor find her in the darkness. The room was much warmer than the rest of the castle; there wasn’t even a hint of snow on any of the windows. Now then...how could he turn on the power with him as the source?

...Of course, of course! The bolts on the sides of his head! How come he didn’t think of that before?

Victor slowly lumbered over to the side of the bed where the “big machine” was, viewing his surroundings as he feared a possible reality: what if she never woke up again? What if his electricity wasn’t enough to power her? If she never woke back up, surely the castle would continue to fall into further decay...Victor  _ could _ take care of it all on his own, but not in the same fashion and not with the same care Emily had. Victor was alone for so long that without Emily...he’d be nothing.

Whatever the case was, the hulking child-like beast finally reached the inner workings of the machine that his father used to bring both to life. Prying away the cover that guarded the box, Victor reached into the box and…

...Which wires powered the machine?

The monster scratched his head, knowing that his massive size could spell doom for his sister. Trying to remember to the best of his abilities, he carefully pulled out a tangle of them and unraveled them as he marched closer to the bed, sitting down alongside his sister. She looked peaceful, almost content in a way; she looked as if she was happy this was her last stand in a way. As Victor tied each wire to his bolts, he never took his gaze off of Emily.

She needed him more than ever.

Now fully hooked up, the monster walked over to the machine over more as a series of colorful wires followed behind him. The switch was right in front of him, his giant hand wrapping around it as he took a deep breath, taking one more glance at his sleeping sister. 

With a single pull, it was done.

Electricity ran through his veins once more, although Victor didn’t feel pain at all. Bolts of energy surrounded his sleeping sister as all of the lights in the castle flickered on, glowing brighter than ever before. For a moment, Victor felt that all was right in the world as he could hear little mumbles from his sister, a grin appearing on his face as the lights got brighter. He was determined to make sure she woke up and greet her in the best way someone like him could, knowing that he had saved a life.

...Although, he was a little tired.

Perhaps he could drift off a little - his eyes wanted to close so badly, now that he thought of it. How ironic it would be for her to wake up to catch her little brother sleeping. She’d probably find it rather cute, even!

The giant sat down once more, the lights getting dimmer as he let out one last yawn before taking a quick power nap. Perhaps when he woke up, maybe they could…

They could…

They…

When Emily opened her eyes, the room was dark once more, a small yawn escaping her mouth as she let out a single stretch. Looking to her right, she saw no one there. When she turned her head to the left-

“...Victor?...”

Why wasn’t he breathing?


	10. To Binge: Hsien-Ko & Mei-Ling

**_Timeline: Before Darkstalkers 2_ **

It had been 273 years, but that didn’t make it sting any less.

When your entire purpose was defined by death, it’d make you feel as if your best years have passed you by. But when your entire purpose was defined by  _ being  _ dead, your best years were probably centuries ago at that point.

Such was the case with Hsien-Ko the Chinese vampire.

Her and her sister, Mei-Ling, had been at sea for a good day now. Leaving mainland China and sailing away on a small canoe was surprisingly a new experience for the 289 year old sisters, as they both thought they had done everything life had to offer...at least at home. Hearing of the alien Pyron’s arrival in Romania, the two knew they needed to slay him if it meant cleansing their mother’s cursed spirit and breaking their aching mortal bonds. Hsien-Ko’s rigor mortis surprisingly didn’t affect the journey as much as she had thought, considering her and Mei-Ling switched who was rowing the boat from time to time.

They were both lucky to feel the night air’s chill; their bodies usually don’t feel the senses anymore, let alone as well as they used to. Hsien-Ko demonstrated this by shoving her hand into the freezing ocean and shaking it off as if it was nothing. They were also lucky that they didn’t need food or water, as both would likely be dead by now...if they weren’t dead already.

Hsien-Ko, the younger twin (by only seconds, in her own words) stopped rowing, causing her sorceress sister to look up in confusion. The stars shone down on them; they usually felt like their mother was looking down upon them, but it’s as if her eyes had closed and the two were flying blind.

“...Hey, sis?,” the jiangshi asked.

“Yes?,” the slightly older sister replied, her usual formal tone coming through.

“Do you...ever wonder what we’re doing here?”

The more stoic of the two tilted her head slightly, focusing in on her blue-skinned, long-sleeved twin.

“...What do you mean?,” Mei-Ling inquired.

“Like...of all the people they could’ve attacked, why did they choose us? Why did fate choose us two out of everyone in the town? We weren’t even, like, adults,” Hsien-Ko responded, using modern teen lingo she picked up; using whatever was trendy in her speech was kind of her thing compared to her rigid and slightly “robotic” sister.

“You can’t know the reason fate does what it does, Hsien-Ko. Our paths just...crossed and the next thing you know…,” Mei-Ling began before dipping her hand in the freezing water like her sister before her, the liquid running through her pale fingers into the sea once more.

“Fate can’t be all busy with little guys like us, right? Like...there’s gotta be people bigger than us out there...we’re, like, specks on the radar.”

“We’d still be on the radar. Fate isn’t a  _ person _ , it’s a concept.”

“Sure as hell feels like it’s alive sometimes…”

“Indeed.”

The two sat silent in their boat for a short while, the water providing a seemingly gentle yet chilling companion as the smallest of waves collided with the sides. The occasional cloud floated alone in the night sky, but besides the stars and the moon, nothing else occupied the empty space above.

“...Wanna hear a joke?,” the vampire asked.

“I don’t see why not,” the older of the two responded as she shrugged nonchalantly.

“So there’s a guy, right? He’s heading to the market to pick up some fruit, he needs it for his meal tonight. So, he goes to his favorite vendor-”

“Yes?”

“Now, this vendor...he’s a pretty reliable guy. He always gives this other guy exactly what he wants when he wants it. But today...he’s got no ‘naners! Now, the guy is like ‘what did you do with the bananas?’, and the vendor is trying to explain to him that they aren’t in stock today-”

“I’m listening.”

“So, now the guy is confused, angry, even. They’re going at it, this is the first time they’ve gotten in any kind of argument, and everyone’s paying attention now. Next thing you know...the vendor flips over the stand and runs away; the guy is covered in fruit and veggies.”

“...I don’t get it.”

“Well, there’s no punchline. He peeled out.”

Mei-Ling snorted before launching into light chuckles. Hsien-Ko was never the best at telling jokes, but her jokes always got the normally stoic sister to show a side that she usually never did. She always managed to provide a bright spot in her life during times where she had trouble finding it on her own; they were inseparable...quite literally, sometimes.

The two laughed with one another for a bit, the lonely sea feeling less lonely as the boat rocked ever so slightly back and forth. It was one of those fleeting moments in their lives where they felt completely safe and content, as if nothing could hurt them. Even small moments of kindness felt like an eternity of good dreams to both of them; like the sea they drifted in, they were washed over in glee when they were around one another.

They may have lost touch, but their sense of humor was still intact.

“You think mom would be proud of us?”

Mei-Ling was taken aback by her sister’s question, the younger one resting her arm on her knee as she slipped it out from her oversized sleeves.

“...Of course. Why wouldn’t she be?,” the eldest responded, putting her two hands together as she crossed her legs.

“I mean...look at us! You’re a wizard lady-”   
“Sorceress.”

“Yeah, and I’m some...freak! We save tons of people from those...Darkstalkers and we still get chased out of the towns! I just...don’t get if I do anything right-”

Hsien-Ko was hushed by her sister, a “shh” escaping from her lips and her index finger over her mouth.

“I’m not here to sway your opinion, but what I can say is that...even if you did something wrong over and over, even if you never reached what you consider ‘peak performance,’ even if you think you’re hideous...you’re doing someone out there a favor, and that’s more important than anything anyone could ever say to you.”

The younger sat stunned as the elder stretched, putting her arms above her head before standing up and continuing to row the boat to the nearest place they could find. Hsien-Ko took her place on the raft now, laying down as she let her sleeves fall into the water below. Staring up at the stars...she felt as if her mother’s eyes had opened once more, staring down at her two daughters on their journey. She didn’t know if she noticed, but Mei-Ling was always a better leader than she ever was, so that combined with the presence of their mother among the stars…

Maybe there were sailing in clear waters after all.

“Hey, sis?”

“Yes, Hsien-Ko.”

“You’re totally rad.”

“...Ditto.”


	11. Doncamatic: Q-Bee

**_Timeline: During Darkstalkers 3_ **

Another day without rain, it seemed.

The Land of Dohma was a dry one for the Soul Bees; not much rain fell, and when it did, it was only for a few minutes. All of the necessary things they would need - food, water, souls...all depleted over a hundred years of waiting. Waiting for a messiah to return but knowing that he would never come back. Depending on a false idol that burned to ash years ago.

They  _ did  _ have a sort of leader, but what could Q-Bee do? There was nothing to govern over if your people are hurting and your materials are draining by the minute. It’s not as if she could just...go and get those materials, either; the Aensland were either dead or missing and their own god had long since passed away, no one else who could be considered in charge wanting to support “Jedah’s spawn” any more than they already had to. Ozom didn’t want to, Galnon died shortly before Jedah tried to usurp the Aenslands...she was left alone with no way of saving her people.

Every day, the storm clouds that hovered over the Land of Dohma seemed to darken, the skies of Makai being visible everywhere else. The monuments dedicated to Jedah had been smashed or toppled over after his demise under Ozom’s rule, the warm smile the king-to-be gave off being destroyed and left to rot. The vegetation that did grow were thorn-riddled vines that covered the old houses and churches that belonged to those who Jedah had accepted into his lands, the few winds that came through never managing to ring the aged bell. Remnants of a time lost were scattered all throughout the land, leaving scraps for the Soul Bees.

They had their own home in ruin as well; the giant hive that used to house thousands of Soul Bees was now abandoned, the bees taking up the land below as small pebbles and chunks of stone fell from the sky when the structure gave way. The hive used to spin around slowly and was aimed downwards so the bees could fly in and out easily, but was now tilted and couldn’t even spin anymore. It was a stationary wasteland...then again, in the Land of Dohma, what wasn’t?

What was a simple Q-Bee to do?

...The sky wasn’t supposed to be this dark, right?

Q-Bee rushed towards the nearest window, popping her head out of it only to see the rest of the Soul Bees looking up in the same way. Angling her head upwards, the queen stared in awe at the new...thing in the sky, parting some of the clouds as what appeared to a castle mural hung above their heads. It looked rugged and old, the three high nobles and Aensland’s daughter appeared faded and cracked. The center of the mural was Belial himself, a stoic look appearing on his face-

...It was falling apart.

Chunks of stone landed in a circle, the image of the former ruler shattering as the rest of the mural began to cave in and fall to the ground below. The Soul Bees flew in different directions, dropping everything they were doing as what seemed to be the end times were finally upon them. Some got on their knees and began to pray to their fallen leader as the mural finally destroyed itself, revealing a hole in the clouds that...brought the first bit of light to the land it had seen in decades. And in that hole, in front of the light it provided…

**_“YOU HAVE BEEN SAVED!”_ **

There he was. Jedah Dohma.

**_“A hundred years of suffering have been placed upon you! Generations have gone by with more deaths than births, your resources are almost nonexistent, and the fires of oppression have burnt your numbers to the triple digits!”_ **

Those who were already on their knees looked up and saw that their prayers had been answered. Those who had fled returned to witness the second-coming of their god, falling to their knees in disturbing unison. All Q-Bee did was...cry.

**_“But Ozom is DEAD! His soul has been transformed into an energy source for all lost souls, and what he failed to provide to you for a century will be given back in DROVES until your emaciated bellies will be brimming with life!”_ **

Every other bee who hadn’t arrived began to show up, taking their place among their sisters and staring up at Dohma. His presence was commanding, as if he were controlling them and telling them to worship him. Q-Bee had left her hiding spot and flew in the air, gazing at the winged figure who promised eternal spoils.

**_“The oppressive reign of the Aensland guard is OVER! You shall be the dominant force in Makai once more...and to prove this to you…”_ **

Jedah snapped his fingers only for the chunks of rock that had fallen from the sky to begin shaking uncontrollably, each being yanked from their positions and flung towards the hive. Each piece fit together like a puzzle piece, causing all bees to turn their attention towards the ruined place they called home. The air, once filled with Soul Bees, was now filled with rocks that darted towards their exact position with disturbing grace. Jedah’s arms were now behind his back as he slowly lowered himself to the ground, feet above the rest of his followers.

To Q-Bee, this was magic.

The hive’s missing pieces erupted from the layers of dirt they had been buried under, following the broken mural and rebuilding the hive. The missing sections, some of which had been entirely destroyed, were reappearing after years of absence and looked as if the hive had just stopped working only seconds ago. Stares turned to cheers, the crowd of Soul Bees beginning to cry tears of joy as they knew what was about to come next.

The hive, now complete, slowly rose from its tilted position, ascending higher into the clouds while beginning to turn itself to the old form it took. Eventually, the hive disappeared into the grey clouds above, leaving the spot it took empty once more.

Then, the clouds began to disappear as something began spinning.

As the clouds parted, more light shone down from above, revealing the hive in its original bright yellow glory. The cheers and cries erupted into screams as Jedah landed on the dirt below him, taking in a large breath as the Soul Bees turned to him and bowed. While limited in speech, all of the bees began chanting the one thing they knew they could appease their god with.

_ “Hail Jed-ah! Hail Jed-ah! Hail Jed-ah! Hail Jed-ah!” _

Q-Bee, while not joining in on the chanting and worship, was still crying as she walked over to their god, the hive spinning above her as the chanting grew louder and louder. Dohma turned to look at who was holding his place for the time he had been dead, giving off a warm smile as she approached. The Q-Bee came face to face with the man who had saved their lives so effortlessly, the one who was unfairly killed and saved them from the same fate, the man who she had only heard legends of.

He was the messiah in the flesh.

“Thank you,” were the only two words she could utter, getting down on one knee and hanging her head down, her people’s savior standing over her as the chanting grew ever so louder.

**_“It’s time we take back what belongs to us, girls.”_ **


	12. Kickstart My Heart: Lord Raptor & Le Malta

**_Timeline: After Darkstalkers 3_ **

“ _ Live from the Big Apple, it’s Direct Discussion with Leroy- _ ”

A yellow bone-like finger turned the radio down in a flash, muting the recap of last night’s episode. Why did the car even pick up American radio transmissions...in  _ Australia _ ?

Zabel “Lord Raptor” Zarock didn’t really mind that people were looking at him on the road; he always thought it was because he was a famous rockstar again, he helped take down Pyron AND Jedah, he was in an old convertible, or he was an undead zombie...skeleton...man...thing. He liked the attention anyways, his bony smile staying strong even if he was down in the dumps. Normally he wouldn’t be in Australia at all, but...he had a visit to make before going on another tour. 

“Ugh...those sods in ‘Merica don’t know what the ‘ell they’re talkin’ about,” the undead musician said to himself, putting his feet up on the dashboard while waiting for the green light.

“You tell ‘em, Raptah!”

Le Malta, Raptor’s frog-like demon companion, sat in the passenger’s seat, his head barely bigger than the car door. He was sipping on an ice-cold slushie Raptor had bought...or rather, stolen for him at a previous gas station. Le Malta was the complete opposite to Raptor: a goodie two-shoes, kind, didn’t swear, a good drummer...it was a wonder why the two hung out together at all, but they got along like butter and toast 90 percent of the time. Le Malta was more familiar with the demon world rather than the human one, whereas Raptor was still relatively new to the idea of “Makai” and all of the so-called “demon world shit.” Odd, since he died via satanic ritual, but neither of them really questioned it.   
“All they evah talk about is themselves and  _ their  _ issues...meanwhile, we fixed that ‘Darkstalkers’ issue ovah ‘ere, years ago” Zabel said, putting his feet down before flooring it through the now-green stoplight. The harsh Australian sun beat down on the both of them, more urban areas popping up in the distance.

“Didn’t they fix it ‘cause they wanted you here?,” Le Malta inquired, an overall dopey tone present in his voice before he sipped the slushie again.

“Yeeeep. Tellin’ you, mate, if I didn’t come back from the dirt, they would’ve done nothin’ ‘bout it,” the zombie continued, driving forwards into the sunset. After minutes of driving, the duo arrived at a place that had obviously seen better days...one’s that Zabel remembered not so fondly.

Even considering both of their usual standards, this place was a dump.

The urban development Zarock used to live in was already slightly deteriorated when he was growing up, but years later...the place was dying. The mall that had been built on his 18th birthday was empty, abandoned, and looked as if a gust of wind could topple it over. The businesses were still there (most of them, at least), but they were smaller and barely seemed to get any customers. The homes that used to feel so pristine and top-notch were now run-down, as if it was a ghost town in name and who lived within it. Zarock’s car, bright and shiny as it was, stood out against the faded paint, weed-covered sidewalks, broken windows, and the glances the zombie and demon team got from the few residents that still lived there after all that time had passed.

“Home sweet home, Le Malta. Home sweet home.”

Lord Raptor chuckled to himself as he kept driving down the neighborhood, eventually pulling up to a run-down house that looked just like the others...except for a beaten up mailbox on the front lawn. In what little paint was visible was a single word written from a much better time.

_ Zarock’s _ .

“...This was your house, right, boss?,” Le Malta asked, stepping out of the car to look at the decaying establishment.

Zabel didn’t answer, staring at the house while chuckling to himself. Getting out of his side, the metalhead was now gripping his guitar, proceeding to step on over to the mailbox and smash it to the ground in a single strike.

“Boss! What are ya doin’?!,” the demon frog panicked, dropping his now-finished slushie cup in surprise as the rockstar brushed off his “axe,” as he called it. He didn’t turn to look at his friend, turning to look at his old home instead.

“When I was a kid...I didn’t know that mum wasn’t s’posed to beat’cha when you didn’t do well in school.”

“...What?”

“I got over the house ‘fore I died; before then...I couldn’t even give this place a glance. I thought goin’ into war would help...and it kinda did, but mum was nevah proud of me. Always somethin’ to fix, always something that wasn’ perfect...I learned what the cold feelin’ of a belt before the warm embrace of a motha.”

Silence in the already silent neighborhood made it even more awkward than it already was, Le Malta not knowing what to say after what his “boss” has just unloaded onto him.

“I always wanted a lil’ brotha...thought it would be nice, learn some responsibility. Maybe that’s why I came out the way I did,” the zombie continued, running his free hand across the toothy maw where his stomach once was.

“Mum was a slag. Never had a dad, really, so I was the man of the house. When I left for the war, I came back with a passion for the guitar...mom died before I could come back, so I never had to hide meself from her like I did when I was...y’know... _ Zabel _ .”

Le Malta stood speechless, totally confused on how to respond to everything Zabel had just discussed.

“Raptah...buddy, I’m sorry-”

“And  _ that’s  _ why you get to throw the eggs!”

Lord Raptor walked back to his convertible, revealing a carton of eggs he had on his person. Dumping the carton into his little brother’s hands, he crossed his arms and looked down at him while waiting.

“ _ I  _ accepted what happened years ago, mate. Since you’re my lil’ brotha...I feel like you should get the honor of eggin’ the bitch’s house.”

Le Malta, holding an egg in hand, stared up at the unfamiliar sight. He was less confused about what to do and more so shocked at the fact that...Raptor considered him a brother? Not just a bandmate, not just a friend, but...a brother? He had gone on so many tours and adventures with him, but he’d never considered he’d think of him in such high regard.

The frog gulped, reeling back his arm before chucking an egg right at the front door.

“Atta boy! 11 more to go!,” Lord Raptor cheered. Le Malta took a second to respond before turning to his brother, a smile on his face.

“...Thanks, Raptah.”

With that, Le Malta continued to deck the house in egg yolk, further shattering the windows, spitting them out of his mouth at speeds not even a cheetah could match, creating small holes in the rotted wood, and even finding a way to launch one straight down the chimney. Zabel cheered him on all the way, grabbing the carton from his small demonic friend and shoving it in the mailbox, tossing it up into the air before striking it with his guitar and slamming into the house, cheering as the sun went completely down.

That didn’t matter; they could do this forever if they wanted.


	13. Hallelujah Money: Jedah Dohma

**_Timeline: During Darkstalkers 3_ **

**_“Lucien. Mudo. I require your assistance.”_ **

Belial’s two former right-hand men ran down the halls to their new boss’s throne room. What was once the home of the mighty Aensland family was now the home of Makai’s one “true ruler:” Jedah Dohma. Days ago, Dohma had single handedly saved the Soul Bee race from near-extinction and established a new precedent in Makai - the bees, who had been dwindling and oppressed for one hundred years, were now the top of the food chain and acted as castle guards, forcing out the remaining staff who worked under Belial and Ozom. Makai seemed to transform physically and internally overnight, new statues and murals of the self-inducted king popping up where they didn’t belong and his formerly ravished lands becoming healthy in the course of just days.

Those who stood in his way had their souls forcefully ripped from their body and shoved into Jedah’s newest... _ thing _ , the Majigen. A dimension-like superweapon that had incredible capabilities when at full power, it was fueled by the soul of Ozom...who now took the form of a giant red human fetus. It was for this reason that Lucien and Mudo bowed down to Dohma immediately...that, and they remember having good relations with the usurper king before his earlier “demise.”

Upon opening the doors to the throne room, reality seemed to slip away; the Majigen was leaking into the room, bright red roots wrapping around statues and whatever else they could latch onto, including the throne itself. Behind the throne was the fetus, currently sleeping as a stream of stray souls were absorbed into the ground around it. In the throne sat Jedah, currently deep in thought with his eyes closed.

“You...wanted to see us, great lord?,” Lucien, the taller of the two called out, causing Jedah to open his eyes.

**_“Ah, yes. Indeed I did,”_ ** the demon king replied, stretching his arms as he lifted himself out of the chair and approached the duo.

“W-What for? We’ll do anything you desire, great lord,” Mudo, the smaller and more cowardly of the two, inquired, hiding in his friend’s shadow.

**_“Mmm...it’s good you said that, because my current request is rather...odd,”_ ** Jedah replied, letting out a small chuckle as his arms went behind his back.

**_“I want you to show me every reality in which I die.”_ **

For such a seemingly outlandish request, it wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded; Belial had a room deep in the palace that could see into any timeline he desired, so peering into one, let alone multiple, wasn’t out of the question. Doing as they were told, the two demons lead their new ruler deeper into the castle, descending further down the hallways and passing by the newly-appointed Soul Bee soldiers, eventually arriving at a part of the castle caked in dust with no one around. Cobwebs littered the furniture and a set of large footprints stood out amongst the dust, being met with three new pairs that day. 

The three soon arrived at a door, opening it to reveal a room with a single book on a podium in the middle of it. Compared to where it was located, the room looked as it had been cleaned to a tee as not a single speck of dust was present. The two stood outside as Jedah walked forwards, closing the door behind him.

**_“Thank you, gentlemen.”_ **

Between him and the book was nothing but air, the scent of a time that passed long ago present within it. Dohma’s face was seemingly neutral as he pulled up his sleeves, slowly approaching the book. The book itself had writing from the former king within it, a fresh ink pen sitting beside it as Jedah flipped through the pages, settling on one that was completely blank. Grabbing the pen, he wrote down four words before digging his sharp red nails into the podium, staring at the wall in front of him.

**_“How can I die?”_ **

Nothing for the first few seconds; only his breathing acted as any kind of sound in the room. Never breaking his gaze from the wall, Jedah’s expression continued giving off a confident yet apathetic glare.

Then, the flashes began.

They were small at first, but enough to send the king falling onto the ground. The clean room morphed into a mold-covered, dusty hellscape with only him having any kind of color that stood out. The visions all played at once, over and over until the king covered his eyes, writhing in pain and screaming as he saw what he requested.

He could see all of it: the yeti smashing his body onto the ground, the lord of the vampires biting down on his neck and absorbing his life force, the hunter pulling out her firearms and filling the demon lord with bullet holes, being sliced into pieces by a single katana, a Soul Bee impaling him before sticking his body inside of an egg...even beings he didn’t recognize tore him limb from limb, shoved an iron cross through his chest, tossed an anchor into his head, impaled him with a staff, and overall just  _ tore him to pieces _ . Every way in which a being like him could die was being transmitted straight into his brain, the usually calm Jedah screaming in agony as he felt every individual strike all at once. He could see himself in different locations: he saw himself die in the Majigen, in the halls of the castle, the lord of the vampire’s Earth-based home, a rainy cliffside...all realities across time and space were being shoved in Dohma’s brain all at once. Despite no wounds appearing on his body, he felt as if he was shriveling up into a pile of ashes as he felt the infinite deaths everywhere on his body.

And he  _ loved  _ it.

To Jedah, knowing that he’s not invincible was the ultimate gift. To know that his rule could be toppled by anyone at any time...it gave him a reason to further strengthen his abilities beyond his already high limits. Even if he could regenerate his limbs in a split second, it needed to be  _ faster _ and the limbs needed to be  _ stronger _ every single time. He was very sure that he could take on every being he saw in his visions, but taking them on with style, grace, and strength…

He was the king for a reason.

Upon opening his eyes back up, the visions ceased. Jedah was once again stuck in the clean room he was in before, slowly regaining his strength as the book sat upon the pedestal as if no one had entered the room.

Then...the laughter began.

It was a small chuckle at first, then a hearty series of chortles. Soon, however, it erupted into a series of chaotic laughs that echoed throughout the room, Jedah’s eyes turning bright red as he let out a manic laugh that seemed out of place with his calculated nature, shaking the hallways outside of the room. The two men who took Jedah down there stopped as the dust and cobwebs fell off of the walls, revealing freshly made murals of the new demon lord himself, replacing the ones that used to be of Belial. Lucien and Mudo were now shaking in their boots as the whole castle erupted into laughter, escaping the small room and entering the outside world.

Makai was Jedah’s domain, and soon everything else beyond it would be his, too. The stars, the dimensions, the reality, space and time itself...all his for the taking.

The end times were never going to happen.

Not when Jedah was in charge, at least.


	14. After the Storm: Donovan & Anita

**_Timeline: During Darkstalkers 2_ **

He really didn’t like taking Anita to dangerous places...but if no inn were to accept them, then the mountains should do.

Being a nomad, Donovan never stopped moving, but considering that it was raining heavily outside, perhaps it was a good idea to lay low for the night and hide out anywhere they could. The sounds of thunder could be heard as each individual raindrop struck the rock outside with such brute force as if millions of small punches were targeting it. On their way up there, Donovan used his large blade, Dhylec, to cover Anita from the raindrops, fully willing to become drenched if it meant not a drop touched her. After finding their resting location, the monk and his companion set up a small camp, igniting a small fire for warmth.

Anita was...odd. She was mostly mute, seemingly lacking in facial expressions, and had strange psychic abilities that she had honed over her five years of existence; the way the fire was ignited was due to her staring intently at the firewood long enough. Donovan made it his mission to raise her as his own, acting as her father and taking her with him wherever he ended up traveling to. Her headless doll acted as the piece that their one conversation centered around, acting as the one tie Anita had to her old life in an orphanage. It didn’t seem like the stoic monk and the emotionless child would get along as well as they did, yet here they were.

Eventually, the little girl began to doze off, her already dull eyes getting duller as the fire got brighter. Slowly but surely, Anita had fallen asleep against the walls of the cave, the rain still falling and Donovan still awake.

_ “She’s precious,”  _ the dhampir thought to himself, letting himself smile for the first time in ages, it seemed.

Anita kept him grounded; despite being half-human, he often saw himself for his vampire side and never fully saw himself as the other half. Anita’s presence, however, gave him something to look forward to every day and made his human half come out more. Donovan was always scared of succumbing to his bloodlust, even with the religious practices he went through to ensure he could stay away from that fate, but to know someone else who also made an effort to conceal her dark side...it made Donovan almost feel at peace with himself.

Not  _ fully  _ at peace, of course, but enough to where he felt like he wasn’t a monster after all.

Sure enough, as the rain kept falling, the Buddhist monk soon began to feel the warm grip of sleep taking a hold on him. As the fire slowly dwindled to it’s last sparks, the vampire hunter’s eyes began to close shut for the night. Just like his young daughter, Donovan had fallen asleep, hoping for a restful sleep.

“What...is this place?”

Donovan was walking in an endless void of pitch black, the only thing besides him being the infinite blue plane he stood upon. In fact...he, too, was now a bright blue, standing out amongst the sea of blackened skies and crystal-blue land.

The vampire hunter took a few steps forward, although to him, it didn’t look like that at all; the ground was a single texture that never changed, so all of his locations looked the exact same. While he was here, perhaps he could-

Someone else was here with him.

Donovan immediately turned around, glaring at...himself? He was standing opposite to Donovan, giving off the same expression as the stoic warrior monk...only he had Dhylec equipped in his hand. The copy picked up the blade and swung it in front of him, causing the clone to disappear into thin air as the sword fell through the floor it was made out of. Donovan, alarmed, prepared to fight with no sword in hand.

“If you aim to harm me, I’m afraid it’ll take you some time,” the dhampir called out to the void.

“A good warrior never leaves his back turned.”

Almost immediately, Donovan was impaled by Dhylec, falling to his knees as the blade entered his chest. Turning his head to see his attacker, he wasn’t surprised to see his copy holding the blade’s handle...rather, he was surprised at the change in outfit. His clone let his hair down, now wearing an outfit similar to that of the lord of the vampires he had encountered in the past, a long flowing cape trailing behind him. The expression was the same: stoic, seemingly emotionless, but the eyes…

They held hatred.

“Let us get one thing straight, Donovan,” the clone growled as he pushed the blade deeper through Donovan’s chest. Despite no blood being present, the pain was immense as if this “dreamscape” was a tangible location in the real world.

_ “I am you.” _

“N-No...you’re but the deepest part of my m-mind...an intruder…”

“No, no. They say you’re half-vampire, but that’s only because you’re too cowardly to let me out. I’m sick of being suppressed, Donovan,” the clone replied, his head appearing next to his original self’s shoulder.

“You say you desire to teach the girl...yet you possess none of her abilities. If you let me take control...she’ll learn  _ so many things.  _ Things you could never possibly teach her on your own.”

The sword was shoved further into him, most of the blade and even bits of the hilt inside of his chest as his twin mocked him.

“Why can’t you let me out, Donovan?”

_ “Why lock me away?” _

With a final shove, Dhylec was pushed through Donovan entirely, landing on the ground perfectly clean. Donovan roared in agony; while no blood or cut was visible, the pain he felt from the sword was immeasurable, indescribable even. Out of instinct, Donovan immediately turned around and delivered a fist towards his clone’s stomach, crippling the beast as he grabbed his blade and jammed it through  _ his  _ chest. The clone screamed, now in a similar position to his original self. Despite the pain Donovan felt, it didn’t compare to the fear he felt over the life of his only friend, his daughter, his anchor.

“Because I’m me.”

The two stood in the void in silence, Donovan’s angered and hurt breathing being the only sound that was heard. As he stood over himself, he assured himself that no one would ever touch Anita. Not a single soul would ever lay their finger on her for as long as Donovan was around.

He was going to protect her until he was nothing but bones.

_ “Well, if you’re you…” _

Immediately, his twin stood straight up, Dhylec phasing right through him as he stood tall, eye to eye with his twin. His evil glare sent a shiver down the monk’s spine, a toothy grin appearing on his face.

_ “Do you know how to wake up?” _

The monk jolted awake, sweat covering his head as the sun peered out from behind the clouds.

He was Donovan.


	15. Humility: Bishamon

**_Timeline: 20 Years After Darkstalkers 3_ **

He could’ve sworn he had purged the beast after Jedah’s end; he could’ve sworn the armor had been destroyed once and for all, left to rot in the snow-covered mountains of Japan. Alas...the news he had heard seemed to imply otherwise. It had been 20 years since that day, the old man living in peace with his wife - the outside world became more alienating by the second with new innovations, but Bishamon was more than happy to live in solitude and simplicity if it meant that his dearly beloved would be by his side.

Even when the time came for her to go beyond her mortal coil, Bishamon didn’t feel any regrets, for even in death he knew that he’d see her soon one day and be reunited with Orin once more. Life was temporary, yes, but everything Bishamon needed to do had been completed. He was satisfied, content, and ready to live the last few years of his life in a silent yet powerful peace, the likes of which he’d be experiencing with Orin until her passing.

Then, the news came.

The village he lived near had heard rumblings of a samurai roaming nearby towns at night, going on bloody massacres with the ferocity of a crazed animal. The samurai wore blood red armor, a gaping maw on the stomach armor with bright yellow eyes that held nothing but hatred for the living. It seemed to be getting closer to Bishamon’s home, in fact, as all past villages it had attacked were creating a straight path towards the one he lived near...and if it got its way, it could easily make its way towards his own house.

There’s no way he would let that happen. Not without a fight.

Night had fallen and Bishamon stood in the middle of the village, everyone else asleep in their beds at this ungodly hour. Despite his age, the man was proficient in his time wielding a katana, ready to draw it at any minute as the moon shone down on the village. The chilling winds blew against his face as his gray hair and beard blew in the wind, the trees around the houses moving along with him. Bishamon never really interacted with those who lived in the village, but ignorance doesn't mean he should turn a blind eye to those who need help.

...That figure in the distance. It was him.

Hannya had returned from his eternal damnation, using stray souls to create the dark image of it’s last wearer: a 20 years-younger Bishamon, his skin a dark blue and his eyes a blistering hot red. Hannya, being the armor itself, now spoke through its own gaping maw and the mouth of its fake body, a row of sharp teeth being present on both. The blade it carried, dubbed Kien, glimmered under the moonlight as if no blood had been spilled onto it over the last few nights. The body had all of Bishamon’s younger traits: he had more muscle, more speed, a more combat-focused spirit...he was everything Bishamon used to be.

The demonic samurai lifted his head slightly, staring down his older self as he gripped Kien tighter.

“Bishamon...my old friend…,” the samurai whispered, his voice similar to that of his older counterpart...only with much more venom in his tone.

“You are to leave this sacred place immediately, Hannya. You are not welcome here,” the former puppet sternly shouted, drawing his own katana and gripping it with both hands.

“It didn’t matter who else I used, Bishamon...you were the one I liked the most. You had such a love for destruction...it seems that age hasn’t been kind towards you.”

“I said  _ leave _ .”

“By all accounts...I don’t exist anymore.”

“ _ If you dare get closer, you’ll be sealed away once more.” _

__ “I’d like to see you try, mortal!”

With that. Hannya leapt forwards in the air, raising Kien above his head while letting out a roar only a Makai demon could let out. Bishamon raised his katana above his head, blocking the blade he once used to massacre hundreds in Hannya’s name. The demon let out a hearty laugh as his former user fought back, using the same techniques the armor had taught him to slice away at it.

“Don’t you dare forget where you got those moves from, old man!,” the armor roared, countering every one of Bishamon’s attacks with his own; they were much faster than the human’s, doing much more to his sword than his sword did to Hannya. Every scratch made to the armor resulted in a cut on Bishamon’s robes, light slices appearing on the areas where the blade landed. Bishamon, despite his age, knew tricks that the armor didn’t, frequently using his katanas in ways that the demon wasn’t aware off.

“You’re not as rusty as I thought, old man! Perhaps you’d still be a good puppet after all!,” the armor yelled, kicking the former samurai in the leg and knocking him over. The old man fell to the ground, but raised his blade before Kien could plunge itself into his heart.

“Why have you returned? Have you not done enough damage?,” Bishamon asked, pushing Kien upwards as he leapt upwards back on his feet.

“Same reason as you:  _ I’m hungry _ . Now...let me have my  _ meal! _ ”

With a single strike, Kien entered the old man’s side, causing him to scream in pain as the demon finally got what he wanted: fresh blood. The crimson liquid leaked down the blade before being absorbed into it, Hannya laughing as he got his free sample.

“That was good…,” the armor roared as Bishamon gripped his side in pain, stilling gripping his sword and on the attack.

“ _ But I want the full course. _ ”

Bishamon winced as the demon held the katana to his neck, threatening to end his life at any moment. The two stood in silence as the villagers hid in their homes, thankful that the old man could hold off the demon for that long.

“Perhaps you and your wife will suffice.”

It was then when Bishamon went into full attack mode, bearing the immense pain as he shoved his katana through the armored breast of the demon, an inhuman roar escaping it’s mouths as Bishamon went in like an animal. Every sword strike served to cut down the beast; a hollow vessel, no blood came out of the hungry beast as the katana finally did some meaningful damage. Kien was no slouch, either, but in comparison to the rage Bishamon let loose, it was like a butter knife in comparison. The demon soon fell onto it’s back, laughing to itself as it’s former puppet stood tall above it, the blade of the kitana aimed towards it’s chest.

“You’re...just as hungry as I am,...o-old man…,” the demon cackled as it prepared to raise Kien in defense. Bishamon glared at him, a look of physical and emotion pain upon his face as he gritted his teeth.

“ _ What’s so wrong about that? _ ”

Bishamon immediately shoved his blade into the demon’s forehead, the samurai screaming in agony as the old man began to recite an ancient prayer. The demon burned, a bright light emanating from it’s makeshift body as every soul it had trapped slowly but surely left their forced fusion. As the beast breathed its last breath, Bishamon screamed out loud, twisting the blade like a key.

“ **_And you shall be gone from this land forevermore!_ ** ”

And in a brilliant flash of light, as blue smoke rose from the ruined armor and only Bishamon remained, Hannya was no more.


	16. Banana Man: Sasquatch

**_Timeline: Before Darkstalkers 3_ ** ****

Why did everyone have to fight so much?

Sasquatch got it when Pyron came down to Earth - he wanted to destroy it, so of course everyone was out to get him. Everyone that tagged along with him was super nice...besides that vampire...and that zombie, too, but everyone else treated him with respect and made him feel like a partner. The “Frankenstein” was especially nice to him, as both knew what it was like to care for small creatures yet accidentally destroy them with their massive size...especially their hands. Sasquatch wasn’t stupid in the slightest and made it an effort to stand up for himself and his village, but sometimes it was nice to enjoy the simpler things in life, like ice cold bananas!

So why did everyone have to fight so much?

Every time Sasquatch and his tribe went down to the nearby town, he always saw people arguing with each other. No one in the town ever had qualms with the bigfoot tribe (they had lived in the mountains for their entire lives and often came down to the town for fun), but it always over some trivial things. He got fighting if it was the end of the world or if someone was being hurt, but so much of what he saw didn’t deserve the energy. Why couldn’t people just relax?

As the village noble, you’d think that his job would be stressful, and while physical training was needed to become a noble...most of his time was spent eating bananas and relaxing. Why couldn’t anyone else go with the flow like the bigfoot did? He supposed it was due to the village being much less...human-like than the bustling city below his mountain, but he just wished for a world that could live in peace and feel just as mellow as him and his people were. He had heard of this “Christmas” that comes around once a year for humans; for him, it was that time of year when they put the pretty lights up that shone through the fog of the mountain for most of December.

He always liked those lights even since he was a baby...so why not repay them?

The next day, Sasquatch loaded up a makeshift wooden sleigh full of bananas, pulling it without seemingly any effort on his part. Planning to trek down the mountain, he waved his friends and family goodbye for the day and began his trek down to the town below. He could’ve sworn the town was called…“Fernie,” as despite going there for most of his life, he constantly seemed to forget the name of the place all that well.

When he made it past the fog that took up the top of the mountain, Sasquatch could see the city below. The buildings were quaint, usually being the same size as one another with different warm colors to stand out against the snow. The lights inside always gave off a warm yellow glow when the moon rose up into the sky, but didn’t appear when it was the sun’s turn instead. Everyone seemed pretty content there, integrating architecture and design that accommodated both humans and bigfoot to give their city a welcoming atmosphere compared to other places in the world that hadn’t accepted “Darkstalkers.”

But not everyday could Sasquatch see the rainbow lights, and when they were up, they were a marvel. So many reds, yellows, pinks, greens, and blues created a harmony of lights that gave the warm town even more warmth than it usually had. There were all of these...grass circles and “candy canes,” but the lights were what really got Sasquatch’s attention, even if it wasn’t nightfall.

It had been hours since Sasquatch started his trek; the humans called this time of day “afternoon,” he thought. He had finally made it to the edge of the city, seeing humans bustling about in warm winter gear that reminded him of his own fur, only it was in so many different colors. Pulling the sleigh behind him, he made sure to say hello to anyone looking in his direction as he headed towards his main destination: the local park, which was decked out in the pretty lights and snow. Finally stopping in the field near the playground, Sasquatch stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles before...sitting down on the ground.

It was time to prepare his present.

He immediately got to work, digging his hands into the snow and rolling it into a ball shape. The size of his hands helped to make the ball bigger than what one human could do on their own, soon becoming the size of Sasquatch himself. After that, he reached into his sleigh and began to shove the bananas into the snowball, the sphere becoming more and more engulfed in yellow crescents as he went along. As he did the first step, he saw a few kids looking at him, pointing at him and his artwork as they walked by. Individually placing each banana took him a decently long time, causing him to launch into the second step: creating a slightly smaller snowball and sticking the bananas in that one. Once that was done, he moved on to the third and final step: an even smaller snowball.

What made this ball special was that the way the bananas were shoved in there; rather than sticking them in by their ends, the bananas now were placed on their sides, not digging as deep into the snowball as the other two. Sasquatch made it a priority to leave a space open for a smiling mouth, a nose that’s drooping downwards, and two closed eyes. Once this was done, the final six bananas were placed on top of the snowman in the shape of a crown. Sasquatch’s gift was finally complete.

...Good lord, how much time had passed?

The sun was up when he made it there, but now...it seemed to be going down. Not that it was a problem, but Sasquatch could tell that maybe he should be heading home for the night - after all, his Christmas present was complete, so perhaps he deserved a break.

The purples and oranges of the sky contrasted against the stark white fur of the bigfoot, the ape-like creature making his way back to the mountain with his empty sleigh in tow. As he left his large footprints in the snow and waved goodbye to the families getting ready to have a warm winter’s meal, he suddenly felt a gentle tug on his arm, causing him to turn his head slightly and look down...only to find a little girl decked out in all of the snow gear she could possibly need.

“Excuse me, sir...b-but did you make...did you make the snowman?”

Sasquatch let out a small chuckle and a hearty grin as he nodded up and down, giving a thumbs up for extra measure.

“Well, uh...I...I think it’s really neat, mister. I think it should stay up for as long as winter is here...thank you.”

The bigfoot clapped his hands above his head, playfully agreeing with the little girl before gently shaking her mitten-clad hand with two of his massive fingers. The two waved goodbye to one another as Sasquatch ascended up the mountain, reentering the fog that consumed the upper half. At this point, the sun had fully disappeared, the moon taking it’s position once more as the yeti stared down to see the Christmas lights.

They were even brighter than he remembered.

All of the colors from earlier were piercing through the fog, revealing a symphony of colors that didn’t exist on the top of the mountain. They reminded him of the friends he had journeyed with not too long ago: the green of the bat lady’s hair, the red of the pharaoh's eyes, the orange of the villain he helped take down, the blue of that mean old zombie...even if they were his adversaries, Sasquatch felt an overwhelming nostalgic sensation run through his rotund body, a large smile creeping across his face as he ascended further up the mountain. Ready to head back home and sleep for the night, he hoped the town below had a...“Mary Christmas,” or whatever they called it

Maybe they didn’t have to fight so much after all.


	17. Starman: Pyron

**_Timeline: Beginning of Darkstalkers 2_ **

Their day of reckoning had finally come.

Long before they had left their mark on the Earth, Pyron was there. Long before they had dug up the fossils of the very beasts his soldiers had slaughtered, Pyron was there. Long before they had discovered what a “Darkstalker” even was...he was there to see everything. He was as old as the Earth itself, hibernating in its core after ravaging the lizards that roamed it a long time ago alongside his automatons. Yet, despite being as old as the rock he lived inside of...he wasn’t of Earthly origins.

Hundreds of millions of years ago, he was birthed into this world onto Hellstorm, a planet where newborns were raised for war - a planet that had locked itself into endless combat with one another since it’s very inception. Raised to brawl, the Hellstormian knew that it was a dog-eat-dog world out there and, as such, trained every moment...no, every second for when his time in the arena they called home was upon him. The thing about Hellstormians is that, like the planet they lived on, their size was massive but rather dense overall.

Pyron was different.

He was smaller than everyone else he knew, coming in about half their height. He could just as many blows as the rest of his plasma-covered horned brethren, but he always saw himself as hopelessly outmatched by everyone in terms of brute strength. In terms of brains, however...Pyron could actually speak sentences instead of roars and grunts. He was a masterful tactician at the age of 1,000, leading entire mindless armies into battle with armies that lacked someone like him. If Pyron had something over everyone else, it was logic.

At 3,000 years old, he ate his first soul.

It came during a regular battle with a mindless Hellstormian. As Pyron smashed his spine into pieces, his opponent had stopped moving only for a soul to pop out of the body and into Pyron’s hands. Absorbing it, he could feel himself grow physically and mentally; the next few battles had him with an extra few inches on his side, slowly giving him more and more of an advantage whenever he brawled. Then came the second soul.

Then the third...then the fourth...then the fifth…

By the time he was 10,000, Pyron had become a physical and mental beast compared to his brothers - as the first king of Hellstorm, he had a duty to fill and a presence to establish. He had moved on from eating souls and was now consuming the plasma-layered skin of those he had killed in combat, gaining ever more power. Pyron, by becoming king, had destroyed the ecosystem of the planet that encouraged endless fighting, for if there was no one to fight, what was the point in doing so? In what seemed like the blink of an eye for the aliens, the weakest among them had extinguished their culture and froze the planet over...figuratively for that last one, at least.

Soon, the fire that engulfed the planet began to die down with the remaining Hellstormians soon dying from exhaustion and their own sadness. When he saw that he had single handedly destroyed his home, Pyron did what any reasonable king would do fled for the stars, leaving the ice-cold rock to die in his permanent absence. 

The next 200 million years were all glory years.

So many new bodies...so many different souls...so much more  _ power _ . Everything he had massacred become a part of him, the king becoming the dominant force in souls in his time. As he hopped from Uranus to Saturn to Jupiter to Mars, he had to admit to himself that he was getting  _ somewhat  _ bored of not sharing his meals...perhaps he could find a way to share his passion with someone else without killing them in the process-

Oh, yes...that was a good idea.

Over the course of the next thousand years, the alien slowly sculpted and built a new army - an army of soulless killers that wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter on site if the being was weaker than them...and considering they were built by the ever-powerful Pyron, there wasn’t much competition to go around. Each one was crafted by hand, pieces interlocking as the surface of Mars was turned from a dead civilization into an automaton militia. As his army was finalized, the Hellstormian king finally thought of a name that all of them would be able to fall under.

_ “Huitzil.” _

His next location was Earth, a planet filled to the brim with reptiles and creatures that reminded him of his own race: monstrous, greedy, would kill at a moment’s notice...nostalgic. But Earth was...different; while the thousands of Huitzil units flew down just find and landed somewhere near land, Pyron himself wasn’t prepared for the atmosphere the planet had to offer, gaining more and more speed as he descended from the sky before making impact. As he fell through the deep blue ocean as a missile hitting its target, he realized the fatal mistake he had made: the force of the impact would-

**_KABOOM!!_ **

The alien was trapped at the bottom of the ocean as half of the souls he had collected shot up into the sky, blocking the sun with an ash-gray cloud. Said cloud kept expanding further and further, shrouding the entire planet in a sheet of darkness as the lizards were killed not by him...but by his hubris. Sure, the Huitzil units were likely doing their job and making their mark on history, but he wasn’t able to see it as he buried himself with the fiery hot core of the planet, regaining his energy over the next 65 million years.

From what he could hear, a massive earthquake had buried his robots in “Mexico,” a new civilization that had been created by the microbes that survived his initial attack. They called themselves “humans” and had grown limbs similar to his own, developing a society like the ones he had pulverized millions of years before. The core of the planet was discussed scientifically now in education centers...although aliens like him were seen as “plausible, yet likely fake.”

No one knew who killed the dinosaurs and gave them a chance to live.

That would all change.

When Pyron emerged from his slumber, the sheer heat he gave off parted the sea around him, waves spinning around in a whirlpool below where he flew. He could see islands and the people that lived on them cowering in fear at the sight of him. In Mexico, he could hear a single Huitzil unit reactivating and getting ready to fly towards him, the sky darkening as he crossed his arms in sheer disappointment.

Years of peace and they gave him  _ this _ ? A world that was constantly fighting with itself? A world that was becoming just like Hellstorm...yet humans were afraid to use their fists? It was him who helped kickstart their evolution,  _ him!  _ Surely they must be kidding...surely…

The alien let out a laugh, his body immediately turning into a pillar of fire that shot up through the Milky Way and back down to the Earth’s core, magma replacing the water that made up the whirlpool as helicopters began to circle his location. It was like he was tearing up Hellstorm all over again; if he was born on the ideas of survival of the fittest, his accidental children were going to follow in his footsteps whether they liked it or not.

Their day of reckoning had finally come.

_ And only the strong will survive. _


	18. Moon River: Morrigan

**_Timeline: Before Darkstalkers 3_ **

Paris was lovely, was it not?

In her 341 years of existence, Morrigan Aensland had taken a liking to the beauties of the human world. Maybe it was the fact that she needed new thrills to survive (literally), or maybe it was the human’s unique sense of architecture, but she had always thought that Earth was such a lovely place to live. The sights, the smells, the multiple islands and cultures she visited as the decades bled into one another...Makai may have had an infinite sea, but the fact that Earth was limited meant that the beauties it held were just close enough to visit and changed with the times. She had grown fond of the holidays and different ways they all celebrated it; their colors were even more lively than what could be found in the demon realm, inspiring Morrigan’s green hair, purple tights, and orange gloves. Truly, Earth was her real home.

But like everything, every beauty had to go at some point. Morrigan’s favorite thing on Earth was no different.   
Being that she was a succubus, her main trick was to lure anyone into a romantic scenario only to steal their souls as a source of food...and while she did that, of course, there were always those few souls that she saw something in and became good friends with. 50 years ago, she met one of those exceptions at this...drug festival called Woodstock.

Her name was Cadence.

Cadence was lovely; good on guitar, good in looks, got Morrigan’s sense of humor, but also wasn’t a pushover and could take on anyone despite her short size. Aensland took a liking to her, promising to see her soon. That “soon” meant that she’d come back the next week...then the next week...then the weeks after that...then she revealed that she was a succubus and she seemed fine with it…

Then they kissed.

It was a kiss like no other; a kiss that 50 years later, Morrigan could never replicate again. Despite her best efforts, Cadence had to go and ended up living on her own...but not before telling Morrigan plenty of things. Her hopes, her dreams, her former family back home, what she did in her spare time...but she mentioned Paris in there; she had always wanted to go, but considering she could barely afford Woodstock, how could she ever hope to afford such a beautiful vacation? She told Morrigan that, in her words, “I’ll make it there one day, even if it means I gotta fight tooth n’ nail for it!”

When Morrigan arrived to the hospital’s exterior, there she was.

Her auburn hair was now a stark white, wrinkles popping up where her freckles once were as two tubes connected to the inside of her nostrils. She wasn’t dead - in fact, her heart rate seemed somewhat normal...but Morrigan knew that she was on her last legs. From what she had read up on, she had lead a quiet yet happy life without her, settling down with some pets and getting local gigs at nearby restaurants and pubs in her prime. Despite 50 years of age, she still looked so youthful, a gentle smile upon her face.

As Morrigan slowly opened the window and entered the room, she contemplated how to approach this topic. She wasn’t obviously going to hit on an old woman...despite being more than twice her age, but if she was going to go out, she deserved the best exit this side of Makai.

When she woke her up, the former lover proved that despite her appearance changing, her personality from when she was young hadn’t. Despite her shaking arms, she wrapped the succubus in a hug so warm you could mistake it for that of a bigfoot. Her warm smile contrasted with her appearance, the woman clearly on her deathbed and having what seemed like a day or two to live. Wasting no time, the succubus scooped up her former lover and flew out of the room into the night sky, Cadence seeming to weigh nothing due to Morrigan’s supernatural abilities. In what felt like seconds, the two made it to their final destination.

Paris, France.

The two spent the entire night together: what was old news to Morrigan was a dream come to Cadence. It wasn’t seen as out of place either, considering the succubus was known for helping end the apocalypse just a few months prior, so her existence wasn’t going to be widely mocked or feared like it used to be. Cadence was trying on different hats, smelling the scents only Paris could provide, and acting like her spunky younger self as if half a century hadn’t passed since they last saw each other. In spite of her failing health, the old lady was still as young as ever.

When you can’t physically age, that wasn’t an issue.

As Cadence was ready to go home, Morrigan had one last surprise for her: grabbing in a hug, the succubus bolted off of the ground and into the sky, the cold winds surrounding the two as the bustling city turned into a series of yellow lights below. As the two flew to what seemed like the stars, Morrigan made a quick turn and took her to what Cadence considered the top of the world: the Eiffel Tower.

The world below was now the night sky: what were once yellow lights were now stars that seemed to be pulled out from their home in the sky and forced down to the ground. As the sun began to rise, the stars began to diminish slightly, but it didn’t matter when the view of Paris extended so far. The former hippie let a few tears trail down her face as the succubus stood atop the spire of the tower, taking in the sunrise herself as the moon that defined her and her friends fell back down for the day. For a moment, time itself seemed to stop moving in order for the former lovers to take in one’s last sunrise.

...Of course, they both had to eventually go back home. Eventually, the succubus picked her back up and bolted back to California, zooming past all of the sights in between the two locations as Cadence looked on in awe. Everything seemed to bleed together, yet was so distinct that she could easily make out almost everything; the cars, the lights, the monuments, the campfires, the pine trees...it was all there for her enjoyment, and God, was she enjoying herself.

But, like every night, it had to end at some point. As the old woman was laid down back onto her hospital bed minutes later, she shot one last smile at her best friend, the succubus shedding a single tear as she knew that this goodbye would be their last. Hooking her back up to the machines once more, Morrigan turned to exit the hospital and had one foot out of the window before turning to face her friend again. Cadence was now fast asleep as if nothing had just occurred, returning to her peaceful state once again.

With one final smile from the demon, the two were separated once more.

She knew she had died when she lurked outside the hospital in disguise; nurses and doctors were rushing into the room she had been in the night before, speaking in a tone that wasn’t so much frantic as it was urgent. She could tell what was going on from just the feel of place, pulling down her fake newspaper in order to pay attention.

It was upsetting that Cadence had to go, yes, but it was melancholy at all: even a being like Morrigan will die in a few thousand years. Her last night was spent meeting the stars before going to live among them as her final resting place. For now, she was content with waiting for her time to come and living her life to the fullest before it arrived.

She could stand waiting ‘round the bend for her huckleberry friend.

Moon River and her.

  
  
  


**_ -Fin. _ **


End file.
